When the Levees break A Supernatural Story
by Kes Cross
Summary: The Brother's roadtrip takes them to New Orleans, where Michael's mother has met a strange end. And there's another Hunter in town. One Dean would prefer NOT to run into. One who knows a big secret about Dean...Reviews appreciated
1. When the Levees Break

When the levees break – a "Supernatural" Story. Chapter 1 

New Orleans:

Michael lay awake, the covers of his bed clutched tight in his hands. The room was cast in long shadows, made to dance by the flickering streetlight outside his bedroom window.

He could hear them again.

Soft, whispering voices, just on the edge of hearing. Pleading. Begging. Help us. _Somebody, please help us… _Michael tried desperately not to make a sound, trying even not to breathe, in case _they _heard him, came for him… His eyes were wide, flitting from one corner of the room to another, searching for them, but hoping that they weren't there. His grip tightened on the covers, distorting the printed fabric face of Buzz Lightyear into an evil grimace. The hiss of voices grew louder, more demanding, the anger rising in their words. _Why won't you help us? Why? WHY? WHY WON'T YOU HELP US! _Michael's heart felt like it wanted to pound its way out of his chest and the terror that gripped him became overwhelming. He whimpered, the sob muffled by the duvet that half covered his face. The roar of disembodied voices reached a deafening crescendo and washed over him like the sea punching through a levee. "Mommy!" His eyes were wide with fright as the shadows closed in around his bed. Would his mom be able to hear him through the screams and raging words that filled Michael's senses? "Mommy!" The boy was terrified. "Mommy! MOMMY!" He screamed, a piercing yell that shattered through the din. He couldn't stop screaming – he screamed and screamed and screamed…

"Michael! It's OK, baby, it's OK! Mommy's here, Michael, Mommy's here!" Mary rushed into the room, her arms winding protectively around her hysterical son. She pulled him close to her, rocking him, trying to calm him. "Baby, sssh! It's OK, honey, it was just a nightmare, baby, just a nightmare! Ssssh…" She held him tight, stroking his soft, blond hair. Mary felt the child start to relax a little, but the sobs continued to send judders through his body.

A shadow appeared in the doorway of the room, and a sleep-addled Alex stared in at his wife and child. Alex had to get up for duty in two hours, and he was not best pleased at being woken by yet another one of the child's bad dreams. Fighting fires required all your wits and concentration. Alex loved his job. But he loved his family too, and the genuine terror on the young boy's face turned his annoyance into concern. He padded softly into the room and sat on the edge of the bed, a look of anxiety passing between him and Mary. The nightmares were getting worse. The child psychologist had said that Michael would go through phases of these nightmares, as the trauma of what had happened two years ago gradually worked its way from deep in the child's subconscious to the surface. It was a good thing, he had claimed. Alex wished sincerely that the shrink were here, right now, looking at the terror in Michael's face. That dreadful night when Hurricane Katrina had smashed her way into all their lives, destroyed their home and killed their neighbours, and reducing the whole district to rubble. And then the aftermath. The vision of Hell as the bloated bodies floated in the sewerage tainted water. The roar of the levee finally giving way. The horror of the little boy stranded alone in the house. His mother, fighting to get back into the house before the wall of water dragged her grip from the doorhandle. She was swept five blocks before someone managed to drag her unconscious body from the water. It had been hours before she could manage to get back to the house and her son. In those hours, the boy had witnessed what seemed to an eight-year-old as the end of the world. Crying for help, for his parents. His father had pulled a 36-hour shift, fighting alongside his colleagues to save the lives of the thousands of victims of the tempest Mother Nature had hurled at them. The sheer fury of the hurricane had made Alex think that Mother Nature hadn't sent that storm at all. It came straight from Hell itself. And Michael had been alone. All that time. Jesus. No wonder the kid was traumatised! Alex had witnessed many of the fire-fighters and emergency crews who had nearly died themselves trying to save others go through the same. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, they had neatly categorised it. It sounded almost benign. But Alex knew there was nothing benign about the trauma his son had gone through. He lay a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. "Hey, little man! It's OK now. Nothing's gonna hurt you now, Daddy and Mommy will make sure of that, son. OK?" He smiled and stroked the back of the boy's head. Michael clung to his mother like a drowning man clings to a life preserver. Mary tried to coax the details of the nightmare out of the child.

"Sweetie? What was the dream about? Wanna tell me, honey?" The boy's sobs were becoming more sporadic and his breathing was less gasping as he managed to speak.

"It… it wasn't a dream! They were here! They were angry at me…"

"Who was angry at you, baby?"

"They were. They said we didn't help them. They said they were mad because nobody tried to save them."

Mary gave Alex a questioning look and he shrugged a reply. He was as confused as she was. This wasn't the usual, 'Monsters in the Closet' kind of nightmare. This was something else. Something worse… "Michael, baby? Who are _they_?" Michael buried his face deep into his mother's embrace. "They died in the water. There were so many of them. I couldn't see their faces, they were all covered in mud and slime. It wasn't a dream, Mommy! THEY WERE HERE!" Michael's grip on his mother was almost painful. Mary was startled at the strength in the slightly-built boy. She winced as the grip tightened – it felt as if her ribs were about to crack. She threw a pleading look at her husband, who put his powerful hands under his son's arms and prised him loose.

"C'mon little man, let's get you downstairs. We'll have some milk and cookies until you feel better, yeah?" He swung his small son up and carried him to the doorway, the boy's arms wrapped around his father's neck, his blond head buried in his dad's shoulder. Alex glanced back at his wife and shook his head. Mary watched the two of them climb down the stairs, her hand rubbing at her arm where Michael's fingers had pushed into the flesh. She looked at the angry red marks on her skin – they were going to bruise up badly. Mary got up to follow her family downstairs but stopped in her tracks as the barely audible hiss of voices began. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and she turned slowly, a sense of dread filling her. The voices grew louder, louder…

Alex opened the refrigerator and pulled a carton of milk out. He closed the door and turned back to the table where his son sat, pale, wide eyed; his delicate hands clenched around an empty glass. Alex ruffled the boy's hair as he poured the milk into the glass. The child didn't respond, the haunted look still darkening his normally bright blue eyes. "Michael, these nightmares you've been having, son." Alex sat down next to the boy. He laid a hand on the boy's clenched fingers, urging the child to listen to him, to hear him, to be comforted by him. "They're _not real_, son. They're just made up of bad memories. Of things you saw when you were little. But they'll go away, son, I promise you. They can't hurt you, you know? Everybody was scared, Michael, everybody. _I_ was scared! We all were. But we can't let that fear control the rest of our lives, son. And Mom and I will make sure you're never on your own like that again, Michael, I promise you. But these dreams are just that, Michael, just dreams. They aren't real, they're just dr…"

The scream shattered the quiet of the house. "MARY!" Alex sprinted from the kitchen, the carton of milk discarded and spilling white liquid in a frothing torrent all over the floor. Michael moaned in fear, the moan building into a wail as his father pounded up the stairs. "MARY!" Alex slid into Michael's room, a knot of fear twisting in his stomach. His worst fear lay in front of him on the carpet. "Oh god! No! NO! _NO!"_ Mary lay flat on her back, her eyes open, her mouth fixed in a death mask grimace that told of those last, terrifying seconds. She was ringing wet, slime and weeds clinging to her soaking night-dress. Just as she had looked when his neighbour had pulled her from the flood. He dropped to his knees and stroked her matted hair, tears of horror and confusion running down his cheeks. How? How had this happened? _Why _had this happened?

Dean took another bite of the congealed burger and pulled a face. "Oh man, that is just _nasty!_" He spat the burger back into its wrapper, screwed up the paper with one hand and tossed the trash onto the back seat of the Impala. He swilled his mouth out with tepid coffee, but the greasy after-taste persisted. "Ugh!" He grimaced again and glanced at his watch. Sammy was taking his time… Dean sat back and waited, admiring the view from the window. The view was about five foot eight, slim and brunette. Her tight jeans complemented her curves perfectly and she flashed a smile at Dean as she sashayed past. He grinned back at her, putting on his best, "Cheeky chappy, loveable rogue" impression. Worked every time. He was just about to open his mouth to say hello to the view when the passenger door creaked open and Sam clambered in, slamming the door shut. "OK, Dean, we've definitely got something here. Ash says that the weather patterns are all over the place and paranormal activity in the area is off the scale. Dude, this stuff is weird man, even for us! Reports are all over the press about weird stuff going on in New Orleans, especially the areas that were destroyed when the levees broke. It seems…" Sam paused and looked at his older brother. Dean was grinning like an idiot at some slim brunette. "Dean?" Sam clicked his fingers millimetres from his brother's ear. Dean flinched and his head snapped around, a look of mild annoyance and barely hidden mischief on his face.

"What? _What?_"

Sam looked vaguely annoyed. He knew his brother was teasing him. He had heard every word, but somehow had the remarkable ability to focus on his job _and_ ogle the nearest pretty girl at the same time. Mind you, Sam had to admit that the brunette was a stunner… He lost himself in a stare. A hard punch on the arm brought him back to the here and now.

"Hey! I saw her first! Ogle your own, little brother!" Dean grinned at him. "Now. What's this about New Orleans?"

"So you were listening?"

"Of course. Ash was talking about the weather patterns?"  
Sam was impressed. Dean had taken one relevant fact from the conversation and used it to cover his pre-occupation with the brunette, thus ensuring that Sam's feelings were not slighted by being ignored whilst talking. Sam suddenly wished he hadn't taken Psyche 101. Perhaps that's where his tendency to over-analyse everything came from. He grinned. Busted. Back to business. "Plus there's been some strange deaths. One in particular. The woman drowned."

"Wow, Sammy, that's really strange. A woman drowned. In New Orleans. A town renown for its violent weather patterns and frequent flooding. And it's strange _how_, exactly?"

"She was in her bedroom. Two floors up. And it hasn't rained in New Orleans for three weeks. They're in the middle of a heatwave. _And_, smart-ass, it was three am and she was covered in slime and mud. So unless she decided to take an early morning stroll down to the canal, throw herself in and then walk back six blocks and die of drowning on a bedroom floor, I'd say it was a pretty normal death by drowning story, wouldn't you?" Sam gave Dean a "get out of _that_ one!' look. Dean nodded and grinned. He let Sammy have the victory. Dad had been right. He was going to make a damn good hunter. Dean clicked into his business-mode.

"OK, that is weird. So what are we dealing with here? Angry spirits? Because after what happened in that place during Hurricane Katrina, there must be plenty of pretty damn pissed off spirits wandering the streets. Did you get any background on her?"

"I think it may be more than that, Dean. I mean, normally it takes a long time for a spirit to build up enough anger to kill. I don't know, maybe we're dealing with something older here. What was that case you worked before down there? You know? The one you mentioned when you first called in on me?"

Dean remembered that night. He hadn't seen Sam in two years. Well, not face to face, anyway. He had swung by the university regularly to check and make sure that Sam was safe and well. How things had changed…

"Voodoo."

"Voodoo? Seriously?"

"Oh very much so, yes." Dean shuddered. That son of a bitch had taken some serious putting down. Dean had had nightmares about it for several weeks after. "No, Sam, I don't think this is voodoo. That tends to have very ritualistic elements to it, you know, chicken feathers, that kinda thing. There's none of this here." He was scanning the article from the newspaper. Like Sam said, the woman had been found on her son's bedroom floor. The official post mortem said she had drowned, her lungs filled with filthy, sewerage tainted water. The trouble was, the floods had long gone two years previously, and the family lived nowhere near any rivers, levees or canals. So how had she ended up covered in mud and slime, two floors up? He looked up at his brother. "Looks like we're going to Mardi Gras, Sammy." He grinned. "And if a girl wearing a lot of beads chats you up, feel free to, you know, catch some _you_ time!" He grinned again and turned the key of the Impala. The V8 coughed and growled into life and headed south…

Mamma Deveau sang quietly to herself as she stirred the pot. The kitchen was spotless – not the kind of environment you would expect a high priestess of voodoo to work in. There were no bubbling cauldrons, no poppets filled with pins hanging from twine, none of the usual paraphernalia that someone who knew nothing about the belief in an ancient and essentially benign religion would expect to see. Mamma Deveau was a healer. Her knowledge of remedies covering everything from depression through to blood poisoning was extensive. But so was her knowledge about the _other_ side of things. The spirits were angry. She could feel them all around her, hear them whispering and pleading for help. For justice. For revenge. Every door and window frame was sprinkled with goofer dust to keep them out. During daylight, it wasn't too bad. But at night, in the darkness…

A knock at her door pulled her attention away from the pot. She quickly put it to one side to stop the contents spoiling and wiped her hands on her apron. Through the frosted glass, she could make out the figures of two men. One of them she recognised instantly. "Dean!" She threw the door open and enveloped the man in a huge bear-hug. Dean hugged her back, genuine pleasure at seeing the woman again on his face. Sam stared. There was obviously more to his brother than he realised. Mamma Deveau pulled back and beamed at Dean. "Let me look at you! Dean Winchester, you been eatin' right? You're just skin and bones, chile!" She turned to Sam her deep brown eyes staring into his. A puzzled look crossed her face. "Well, well. So you finally brought your little brother with you this time, huh?" Dean smiled.

"Sam? Meet Mamma Deveau. Mamma Deveau? This is…"

"Sam, yes, yes, I know Dean." She held out a large hand. "Pleased to meet you, Sam. Come in, come in!" The large woman bustled the two men into an immaculate living room and sat them down. Within seconds it seemed, a steaming pot of coffee and a pile of cakes sat on the table. Dean didn't need asking. He tucked in happily to a slice of cake, the crumbs tumbling down his chin and onto the cushion of the sofa. He brushed them absent-mindedly onto the floor and then suddenly realised what he was doing. His hand stopped in mid-air and he looked up guiltily at Mamma Deveau. He chewed twice and swallowed.

"Sorry."

"You will be, boy. Dust-Buster is in the cupboard." Dean put the half-eaten slice of cake down and stood up, more crumbs cascading down onto the floor. "Damn boy, you just makin' it worse! Sit down and sit still for a moment!" Mamma Deveau busied herself sucking up the crumbs with the Dust-Buster, put it back in it's cupboard and picked a small plate covered with a napkin. She thrust the plate out at Dean, who took it apologetically and laid his cake on the napkin. Sam could barely contain his laughter. Dean glared at Sam. Sam couldn't stop himself and broke into a broad grin at the sight of his brother's discomfort. He put his cup down. Straight onto the table. With no coaster under it. Dean winced and looked away. Mamma Deveau looked fit to explode. "Goddamn it Sam, you as bad as he is!" A coaster seemed to magically appear under the cup and Mamma Deveau sat herself down on the sofa opposite the two now squirming brothers. Her big arms folded over her chest, and suddenly the expression changed from one of annoyance at their appalling manners to a warm grin.

"Anyway, Winchester. What you doin' back in this neighbourhood then? Ain't no problem here with him since you put him back in his grave."

"It's not him, Mamma. It's this." Dean pulled out the newspaper article and held it out to the woman. She took it and scanned it quickly.

"Oh yes. Strange case, this one. That poor child."

"Yeah. I don't understand it, though. She drowned in her son's bedroom." Dean leaned forward. Sam recognised that his brother was in full-on business mode. It was a side of Dean Sam had seen only rarely. Usually he was full of flippancy. The serious side meant that this was something big…

"No, I mean the woman's child, Dean. Dreadful case."

"Wanna fill in the gaps for me?"

"Promise not to spill any more food on my carpet?"

"Promise."

"OK then." She picked up a cup and leaned back into the sofa. "Two years ago, we kinda had a bit of a storm down here."

"Hurricane Katrina."

"Yeah, if you wanna give it a fancy name. No point givin' a name to something that comes from Hell, Dean. Givin' it a name gives it an identity. Give it an identity and you give it a soul. That storm had no soul, Dean. It took everything. Our homes, our city, our families, everything. And that little boy lived through it. When the levees broke, his part of town was hit by a damn flood that Noah would've been proud of. His momma was washed away as she tried to get back into the house. He saw her bein' tossed around in the water like a leaf." She paused and took a mouthful of coffee. "She was lucky. Six blocks down, she was pulled from the water by a neighbour. Film crew was on hand to capture the rescue. The footage went international. Anyway, she survived and eventually got back to the house, to find her son near outta his mind with fright. He'd been in the house on his own for nearly two days. His daddy's a firefighter, so he was out rescuin' people. But that poor little boy saw everything – dead bodies floatin' up against the window, and all the time on his own."

"Jesus." Sam could imagine the agony of the little boy as he stood there, alone, watching the destruction and desecration of everything he had ever known in his young life.

"Don't you be blaspheming in this house, young man! Dean? You taught your brother _any_ manners at all?" Dean shrugged apologetically – he wasn't going to risk another telling off for talking with his mouth full. Mamma Deveau smiled gently at Sam. "But I know what you mean, Sam. That poor chile went through his own kinda hell on that day. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, they called it. Not from where I'm sittin' it ain't. That kiddy was more than traumatised, I'm tellin' you."

"What do you mean?" Dean had finally finished the cake and his hand automatically went to take another slice. Sam threw him a look and Dean guiltily withdrew the hand and put his plate carefully on the table. Mamma Deveau looked at him, her soft brown eyes full of concern.

"I mean, sweetie, that strange things happened to little Michael. He's always been a delicate child, you know, prone to them bigger kids pickin' on him all the time. But after Katrina it got worse. He claimed he could hear voices, the voices of those poor souls who died in the flood. Callin' after him all the time. Well, people didn't take kindly to that kinda talk. Too raw still for this town. So the poor mite ended up getting' more ostracised than ever. His momma even took him out of school for a while." Mamma Deveau took a sip of coffee. "Guess he won't be going back any time soon now."

"So this kid is some kinda real-life understudy for that kid in 'Sixth Sense'?"

"If you mean he sees dead people, Dean, then yes. The kid's about as psychic as you can get."

Sam felt a chill. He had to ask her. "Mrs, um, madam, um…"

Dean jumped into his rescue. "Mamma Deveau."

"Sorry, yes, of course. Mamma Deveau, can I ask you a specific question?"  
"Of course you can, Sammy." Dean winced at the familiarity that he knew Sam hated from anyone else except his brother, but Sam seemed to let it ride with no reaction. He also smiled inwardly at the gentle and subtle teasing by Mamma Deveau by coming back at his stumbling attempts to address her correctly, with exactly the right name to make Sam squirm. She hadn't lost her touch. Dean had always liked Mamma Deveau. She was wise, incredibly knowledgeable about a wide range of Supernatural phenomenon, and made the best damn gumbo this side of the Mississippi. He glanced at his brother, wondering what was on Sam's mind.

"Are there any reports of a fire in Michael's nursery when he was about six month's old?"

Mamma Deveau looked genuinely surprised. "Why yes! Yes there was!" Her face crinkled as she remembered distant details. "That's why his daddy became a firefighter. Michael's momma died. That kiddy been through some crap in his short life, he really has. But why the question, Sammy?"

"I thought the newspaper said that his mother had died in his bedroom from drowning?"

"No no, that was Mary, his second wife. He married her about a year after Kathleen died. Kathleen was Michael's birth mother. Mary was his step-mom."

Dean and Sam stared at each other. Michael was special. One of the Special Children…

"Mamma, always a real pleasure to see you again. We better start checking around. Any good motels we can crash at round here?" Dean stood up, Sam a split second behind him. Mamma Deveau looked at the two men and smiled warmly. John had done a good job. His boys had turned out just fine.

"There's a good one a mile north of here. I know the old fella who runs it. I'll call ahead, let him know your coming." She stood to see them out and they walked to the door. As Dean opened the door, Mamma Deveau's voice took on a serious tone. "Dean? There's something real big brewing. Cath Miller's in town."

Dean's hand froze on the handle and he turned slowly. "Seriously?"

"Uh-huh." Mamma Deveau's face was grave. "And where she goes, there's _bound_ to be trouble." Dean flashed a smile at the woman.

"Thanks for the heads-up, Mamma. You take real good care of yourself, OK? Any problems, you call me!"

"Now don't you worry 'bout me, boy, I been fighting nasties since your papa was in diapers!" She laughed heartily. "Now git! G'on. Do what you have to do."

The doors creaked open on the Impala and the Winchester brothers climbed in. Dean sat for a moment, his hands resting loosely on the steering wheel. Sam looked at his brother, an expression of concern etched into his features. "Dean? You OK?"

"Yeah." Dean didn't look at his sibling.

"Really? Cause you don't look fine. In fact, you haven't looked fine ever since Mamma Deveau mentioned that Cath Miller. Who is she?"

Dean turned, his look dark. "Trouble." He turned the ignition key and the Impala roared into life. "Let's get to this motel. If I'm gonna tell you about Cath Miller, you're gonna need a beer." The wheels spun on the gravel and the car growled off into the evening.

From her window, Mamma Deveau watched them leave. "May God watch over you, boys. Cause what's out there ain't holy. Ain't holy at all." She turned from the window, her face set. She knew what she had to do…


	2. None so Blind

None so blind – When the Levees Break chapter 2

The Impala growled to a stop outside the motel. It was clean, tidy, and not quite as gaudy on the outside as some of the décor disasters they had pulled up to over the years. This place looked homely, welcoming. Mamma Deveau was as good as her word, and the Winchester brothers were soon settling into a warm, comfortable room. Complementary Budweiser had made the motel owner very popular with the boys. The fact that he knew who and what they were also made life a little easier than it had been of late.

Sam kicked his boots off and flopped heavily onto one of the twin beds. He took a long pull on the Bud bottle and grinned at his older brother. "So. I have beer. We have a little time. Wanna tell me about this Cath Miller chick?"

Dean laughed at his brother. "Dude, don't _ever_ call her a chick. Not unless you don't want children later on." He swigged his beer and sat staring at the bottle, idly peeling the label off. "She's… different."

"What? She one of the few girlies that said no to you, bro?"

"Sammy, I never did anything with Cath, OK? Seriously. She scares the crap outta me." He took another swig, conscious of the look of utter surprise on his brother's face.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Sam laughed, long and loud. "You? You're not scared of anything!"

"Well I'm scared of _her_, Sammy, got it?" Dean looked annoyed.

"Why?"

"Because she's a psycho bitch from Hell. One of the best damn hunters there is. She only deals in major league stuff, you know, demons, old vampires, that kinda thing. She doesn't waste her time with angry spirits. And if she's in town, then whatever the hell is going on here doesn't stop at a lot of pissed off drowned people."

"She sounds kinda fun to be around."

"You have a very strange idea of fun, Sam." Dean cracked open another beer. "She's English."

"Oh yeah, real scary, the Brits."

"You gonna let me finish here? Rumour has it she's ex-military. Nobody knows for certain, but apparently she can't go back to England. I met her about five years ago, in New York. Dad put three bullets into the bitch."

"What? Goddamn it, Dean, is there _anyone_ in the hunting community that Dad didn't either piss off or shoot?"

Dean laughed. "Probably not. But he had good reason with her. She'd turned. Gone completely fruit-loops. Not surprising really, after what she'd been through." 

"Jesus Dean, this is like pulling teeth! Gone through what, exactly?"

"Sammy, you think we're the only ones that have come up against that yellow-eyed son of a bitch? He tore her entire family to pieces, including her little sister. In front of her. Damn near killed her. Soon as she got outta the hospital, she dropped off the grid. Next thing we know, there's this trail of death and mayhem in her wake. Anyone or anything who got in her way. She had to be stopped. So we teamed up with a couple of other hunters and tracked her to New York. She was in the process of torturing the hell outta some vampire's familiar to get some intel on old Yella when we caught up with her." Dean went quiet. Sam could see that the memories were not ones that he really wanted to relive. "She really didn't give us any option." Dean looked at his brother, and he could see that his normally mischief-filled green eyes were serious. "Dad put her down. We called the emergency services, planted the gun on the familiar and got the hell out of there. Last thing we heard was that the military had moved her to an army hospital. God knows why."

"So she's still military?"

"Possibly. Possibly something else. I don't really know."

"OK, so how do we handle her?"

"_We_ don't, Sammy. I do." Dean reached inside his pocket and pulled out his cell-phone. He stared at the keypad for a moment.

"Dean? What are you doing?"

Dean looked up. "The right thing, Sammy. Letting her know we're in town. If this is her gig, then there is no way I'm gonna get in her way. If she says leave, we leave."

"You are joking?"

"No. You don't question this woman. You obey her." Dean punched in a number…

Cath Miller was bored. Bored out of her mind. She sat in the driver's seat of the big Land Rover, a cigarette curling blue smoke into the air in one hand, the other hand resting gently on the doorframe. The bar she was watching was almost deserted – the bastard hadn't turned up. The tip off was a bust. Cath was not a happy bunny. A pissed off Cath Miller was _not_ a good thing. "Bugger!" She stubbed the cigarette out into the ashtray and turned the key. The rumble of a V8 engine spluttered and then roared into life. She pulled away from the side of the road and back to her motel room, her mind turning over. The levels of supernatural activity in New Orleans had been off the scale recently. Something big was building up, something that was feeding on the pain and anger of a whole city that believed it had been abandoned to its fate by the very people it had expected to help them. New Orleans was seething with anger, resentment and a desire for justice. Perfect for a demon to step in and up the ante, perfect for that son of a bitch to come in and feed off those emotions, like some kind of sick vampire. And she was here. Ready. Waiting for the bastard to show his nasty little yellow eyes. And then? Oh yes, and _then…_

Cath showered and changed, swigging a beer in between jobs. The weapons were cleaned to military perfection, every breach so clean you could eat your dinner off it. The knives were sharpened until they could cut through bone as easily as through paper. And her swords – ah, her beloved swords. Those she treated with the love and attention that most women dedicate to their children. These babies were special. Very special. As she wiped the blades one last time and slid them effortlessly into their scabbards, her cell-phone buzzed. Voicemail. She flipped the phone open and looked at the number, one arched eyebrow raising quizzically when she saw the caller id. "Good grief! Winchester! Well, waddya know?" She smiled and listened to the message…

"Hi, err, Ma'am. It's… it's Dean Winchester here. Look, I know you're in town and you're on a hunt, but me and my brother just got into town too and, um, well, I kinda didn't want to step on your toes as it were, so if you want us to get outta here, then just text me back and we'll be gone by morning. What? Shut _up_ will you, Sam? Um, sorry 'bout that, geek brother in the background, but you don't need to know that. Um, so, um, let me know what you want us to do. Um, yeah, thanks. Bye."

Cath burst out laughing. "Oh Dean! You poor boy!" The man's voice had sounded nervous, almost like a kiddie caught with his hand in a cookie jar. Did he still think she carried a grudge against him for what happened in New York? Jesus, if John hadn't put those three rounds into her, she'd have killed him, Dean and anyone else who had got in her way. Plus she'd be well and truly pushing up the daisies herself by now. No. John had saved her life when he'd shot her. Ah, the English and their love of irony…

Cath tapped the phone idly on her chin, deep in thought. The Winchester boys. Well, they had as many reasons to be pissed at the yellow-eyed bastard as she did, and if they were anything like their Dad, they'd be good to have around. Cath hadn't worked with a team for some time. But this job – this was a big one. A couple of extra guns would come in very handy. Cath reached a decision…

The motel room was silent, except for the gentle snoring of Sam. Dean lay awake in the darkness, one hand resting behind his pillow, the cold form of the automatic pistol reassuring to him. Cath Miller. Jesus, this just kept getting better. He had argued with Sam for several hours over this. His brother couldn't understand why Dean would be so willing to walk away from a job just because another hunter, and a _woman_ at that, was in town. It just wasn't Dean's style. But then, Sam had never met Cath… Dean felt his eyelids getting heavier and he started to drift off to sleep, the warmth of the bed finally lulling him into a state of relaxation.

"Ah, now don't you look sweet, all sleepy like that?" The London accent was unmistakable.

"FU..!" A strong hand clamped over Dean's mouth and another gripped the elbow of the arm he had resting on the automatic. He was pinned to the bed. Pressure against his ribcage told him that the intruder's knee was resting on him, ready to push him back onto the bed hard if he tried to struggle.

"A-a-a, language, young man!" The voice chuckled softly. "Now before you start getting any ideas, old son, I'm not here to hurt you or your brother. We need to talk. So, here's the thing. I'm going to let go, and if I see that automatic you've got hidden under yer pillow come anywhere near me, I'll clobber you a good'un, understand? Just nod." Dean nodded. "Atta boy. Right then." Dean felt the hand lift away and the pressure on his chest vanish. A shadowy figure moved to the side of the bed and sat down. In the dim light, he could make her out. Hip length red hair was pulled back into a plait that ran down her back like a second spine. Two vivid green eyes glinted in the half-light, full of quiet humour at his predicament. She was tall and powerfully built, the clearly defined muscles under the tee-shirt and jeans leaving Dean in no doubt who had paid him a midnight visit. Cath Miller. She nodded towards the still-snoring form of Sam. "Sleeps like a baby, doesn't he?"

"He's had a tough time recently. What the hell are you doing here?"

"You called me, poppet. Remember?"

"I know but I didn't expect a personal visit."

Cath grinned. "Well, waddya know? You got one." She glanced over at Sam again, who had moaned quietly in his sleep. "I think we better take this conversation outside, don't you? Not sure how Sam would react to finding a strange woman sitting on his brother's bed." She paused for a second and her face split into a wide grin. "Though, mind you, with your reputation, I doubt if he'd be that surprised!" She laughed quietly.

"Hey! Laying right here, you know!" But he couldn't help himself. Dean grinned back at her and they silently left the room.

Outside, dawn was just breaking and the sky burned orange. The horizon was still black as the night was pushed aside once more. The smell the sea filled the air with a salty tang that you could taste on your lips. It was going to be a beautiful day. Cath walked over towards a big truck, its blacked-out windows making the thing look almost sinister. The legendary Land Rover. Dean ran an admiring glance over the beast. The car was almost as famous as the woman. Cath opened the door of the Landy and pulled out a thermos and two mugs. She poured steaming black liquid into the mugs and held one out to Dean. "Can't bear the stuff personally, but trying to get a decent cup of tea in this bloody country is like trying to get an audience with the Pope." She grinned at him. "Don't worry, sweetie. I haven't poisoned it. See?" She took a mouthful of the coffee and swallowed. Dean followed suit. It was actually very good coffee.

"Thanks." Dean stared into the cup. "So…"

"Ah, yes. Suppose we'd better get the history out of the way first, hadn't we?" She leaned against the Landy and looked at Dean, her face serious. She was striking. Not in a "Malibu Barbie" kind of way, but in a "Poised panther" kind of way. And those eyes… Dean lost himself in them for a moment, but as soon as she spoke, he snapped out of it. "Look, what happened in New York, water under the bridge, OK? I don't bear you or your Dad any ill will. In fact, quite the opposite. I owe your Dad." Her look softened. "And seeing as he's no longer around, Dean, that debt of gratitude transfers to you. I'm sorry about what happened, love. It shouldn't have been like that. He was a good man. A card carrying pain in the arse, but a good man, nevertheless."

Dean felt a knot of pain twist in his guts. He missed his Dad. So damn much. And here was a woman his father had gunned down in some filthy alleyway saying that she owed him. His voice nearly broke with emotion. "Thanks." He lifted his head and smiled sadly at the woman. "He _was_ a pain in the arse, wasn't he?"

Cath laughed and put the coffee down on the bonnet of the Land Rover. She walked over to him and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Yes, Dean, but he was the best of us. By a long shot. And if you're _anything_ like him, I'd be honoured to have your help. See, I have a bit of a problem here. A problem with a certain yellow-eyed son of a bitch. I think you know him."

"Personally."

"Exactly. So you can imagine my surprise to get your call last night. And by the way, what was all that Kansas farm boy "Ma'am" shit, Dean?" Cath could barely contain her laughter, but tried desperately to look stern. Dean grinned again.

"Well I couldn't very well go 'Hey Cathy baby!' now could I?"

Cath couldn't help herself. She laughed out loud. "You call me Ma'am again, and things will go very badly for you, got it? It's Cath." The eyes suddenly stopped twinkling. "Never Cathy. Ever. Understand?" Dean nodded. That was obviously a private matter, one that Cath didn't feel privy to disclosing to Dean at this point. "Anyway, Dean. Here's the thing. This kid Michael's case is just one of many. People have been dying at a rate of knots lately around here, all drowned, all on dry land or inside buildings, and all of them survivors of the hurricane."

"So what are you thinking here Cath? Angry spirits? Mad at the survivors for making it when they didn't?"

"Ordinarily I'd say yes. But that would take much longer than a couple of years to develop into something this big."

"Cath, think about it. There's so much anger amongst the living here, let alone the dead. They'd be bound to be affected by that. What makes you think that it's something bigger?"

"Did you read the coroner's report on Mary?"

"Yes. And?"

"Did you read the _whole _report, Dean?"

"No, just what was published. We only got here yesterday evening. I went straight to see Mamma Deveau first."

"The body was covered in slime, mud and very high concentrations of sulphur."

Dean swallowed the last of the coffee and handed the mug back to the Englishwoman. "That confirms it then."

"Confirms what?"

"What Mamma Deveau told us. Michael?" Dean locked eyes with those vivid green orbs of Cath's. "He's one of the special children, Cath. One of the demon's kids. His mom died in a nursery fire when he was six months old, everything. Only this time the demon isn't waiting for him to grow up. Mamma Deveau said that the kid sees ghosts around him all the time, like that kid in Sixth Sense. Only for real. And he's scared outta his mind. I'm guessing that's our starting point."

Cath nodded. "Yep." She put the thermos back in the Land Rover and slammed the door shut.

"So, Cath?"

"Hmm?"

"You want me and Sam to stick around?"

"Of course!"

"And us? We're good here, right?"

Cath smiled warmly at Dean. "Yes, Dean, we're good. Now then. I suppose it's time you introduced the psycho bitch from Hell to your sweet little brother, isn't it?"

"How the hell did you know I called you…" Dean stopped himself just in time. Well, a little too late, actually. Cath grinned and winked at him.

"S'what everyone else calls me, babes!" She walked back towards the motel room. "Coming?"

Dean shook his head and stared after the woman. Damn, she had good legs!

Bobby Crane had nowhere to run. The Honda Civic was barely controllable and the scream of the Police cars chasing him told him that this particular joy-ride was very nearly over. The stop sticks had taken out his front left tyre and he was sending sparks into the night air like an angle-grinder. The chopper above him shone the night-light on him, turning the darkness into blue white brilliance. Fifteen years old, with a string of convictions behind him for taking and driving away, no licence, failure to stop and a plethora of other offences meant that this time, he was going to jail for a long time. The passenger in the front seat laughed loudly.

"Damn boy, ain't this just so much fun?"

Bobby stared at the form of the man. When he had taken the car, there had been no passengers of any description…"Who the HELL are you?"

The man turned and faced him, two yellow eyes burning into him. He smiled lazily. "Your worst nightmare, kiddo. Your worst nightmare…"

In the helicopter, the co-pilot kept the night-light focused on the car as he watched it finally loose control and slew wildly to the left. The car smashed into the levee wall and a ball of fire mushroomed into the sky as the gas tank blew. "Jesus!" The co-pilot glanced at his partner. "Guess that's one kid who ain't gonna be going for any more rides, then."

His partner manoeuvred the chopper over the scene as the police cars surrounded the blazing wreck, beaten back by the flames as they tried again and again to get the kid out of the car. He glanced down at the scene. "Turn the thermal imager on, see if the kid bailed before he hit the wall."

"OK." The co-pilot turned the thermal imager on and looked at the screen. His eyes widened. "Chris? How many people do you see down there?"

"About six black and white units, probably about twelve cops in all. Why?"

"Then why is it that I'm picking up a crowd of about two hundred people on the thermal?"

"What?"

"Take a look!"

"What the hell?"

On the screen, the two men could see a crowd slowly encircling the crash scene, the forms moving in almost as one. Above the noise of the rotor-blades, the two men could hear a hiss of voices – _why won't you help us? Please, help us! WHY WON'T YOU HELP US?_

**_To be continued…_**


	3. Out of the Mouths of Babes

Out of the mouths of babes….

When the Levees Break Chapter three.

"Sammy. Sammy! Wake up!" Dean shook his younger brother's shoulder, a look of concern on his face. His brother was having another one of his nightmares. That meant one thing – the Demon was involved. Every dream or vision he had had concerned that yellow eyed bastard, and Dean had sworn to protect his brother from that son of a bitch. Even in his dreams, if needs be. Sam's eyes snapped open and he stared into two green orbs filled with worry and concern. "Hey little bro! You OK? Waddya see?"

Sam tried to get his bearings – the nightmare had left him disorientated and confused. "I.. I saw a kid, couldn't've been more than fourteen, maybe fifteen, in a car. Getting chased. There was a helicopter, and, and…"

"Sam! Focus, dude, c'mon."

"What? Yeah, sorry." Sam pushed himself up on the bed and leaned on one elbow. "Dean, the kid was running from the law. But he had a passenger sat next to him, one that just, kinda _appeared_ outta nowhere. The car exploded and then all these people, they surrounded the cops and next thing, all the cops were dead on the floor. Covered in mud." He looked over his brother's shoulder. "Dude?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "Um, who's the redhead?"

"What? Oh, that's Cath Miller. Cath? This is Sam. Sam? Cath." Cath grinned and waved. "OK, introductions over. So. He's in town. Well, we kinda guessed that. Any idea why, Sam?"

"No, how would I know? And why is Cath Miller standing in our motel room, exactly?"

Dean grinned and looked slightly embarrassed. "She kinda broke in earlier and took me by surprise." His grin vanished and he winced as he realised how this sounded. A shout of laughter behind him told him that Cath had picked up on the unintentional connotations in that seemingly innocent statement very quickly.

"Seriously, old son, that's so not how it sounds!" Cath walked over to a chair and flopped down, one long leg dangling over the arm, a cigarette in one hand, a Zippo lighter in the other. "I'm just light on my feet, really." Her eyes sparkled merrily, but there was that hint of steely professionalism just under the surface. Sam immediately understood just why the woman had such a fearsome reputation. The signs were subtle, but he had seen them before. In his father. She was a little more flippant than John was, but she had a _presence_ that if you'd spent your life around hunters, you could pick up on instantly. And she had just broken into their room and abducted his brother without so much as a murmur. So, probably best not to underestimate her. Obviously, any previous history between her and Dean had been sorted out amicably. The clink of the Zippo and the flare of the flame snapped his mind back into focus. Just as Cath intended it should. "So we have several known facts here, boys. One, demonic presence."

"The body of that woman was covered in sulphur deposits." Dean stood up and walked over to the mini-bar and opened it, the light illuminating his face as he searched for orange juice. "Cath thinks that the demon is controlling the spirits of the dead here, the really pissed off ones. Juice, Cath?" He idly tossed a carton over his shoulder in the general direction of the woman and she caught it effortlessly without even looking, her hand snaking out and snatching the carton in mid-air. The reflexes of a professional.

"Ta." She tore the mini-straw from the side of the carton and punctured the top. The straw immediately disappeared into the carton and Cath stared at it. "Son of a bitch! Why don't they make the damn straw longer so that _doesn't_ bloody happen?" Dean grinned, still scanning the fridge. "Or one of them clever double straws? You know? The ones with half clear, half white bits that slide apart?"

"Err, Cath?"

"Sorry. Just one of those things that really irks me. OK, where was I?"

"Demonic influence."

Cath grinned. "And thank you, lovely assistant Dean. Yep, demonic influence. Confirmed by one, what Mamma Deveau told you about little Michael's back history, _two,_" she waved the carton in Sam's direction: "your little dream you just had and the fact that every vision you have like that is in some way connected to the bugger…"

"How the HELL did you know about that?"

"Common knowledge, old son. The whole hunting community knows. Which means we know."

"And who, _exactly_ is this _we_?"

"Not important."

"Not important? Are you kidding me?"

"And _three_," Cath pointedly ignored Sam's interruption. "Three, my poppet, the fact that a kid _did_ die in a car crash tonight. Ran his car straight into the Levee wall. Twelve police officers were also killed. It's being put out that they died in one of the explosions that blew the car apart. We know different."

"Again, there's that _we_. What, do all you English use the Royal 'We' when you're talking?" Sam was determined to find out exactly who this woman was.

"Blimey, Dean, you were right! He's like a bloody terrier worrying at a bone, isn't he?" Dean closed the fridge and walked over to the other bed, tossing a carton to his brother en route.

"I did warn you."

Cath chuckled. "Look Sam, I promise you I'll explain all that later. Right now we sorta have different priorities here. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"Thank goodness for that. And, for your info, sunshine, no, we don't all use the Royal 'we'. Only Brenda's allowed to do that."

"Who the Hell is Brenda?"

"Our beloved queen, gawd bless 'er. Now the only things we don't know at the moment is how the demon is doing what he's doing and why. Any thoughts?"

God, thought Sam. It was just like one of Dad's briefings. "Well, like Dean said earlier, there's a hell of a lot of anger in this city. But that doesn't explain why Michael has been activated, for want of a better word, so early. I mean, all the other special children, myself included, didn't start getting any powers until we were twenty two."

"Sammy's got a point there, Cath. Could Michael be something else?"

Cath grinned again. "What, you saying that what we got here is a combination of the plot from Ghostbusters Two and The Omen? Hardly. Michael isn't the Antichrist or anything like that, nor is there pink gloop running through the sewers. And our yellow-eyed friend ain't that powerful."

"He seemed pretty damn powerful to us last time we looked, Cath." There was a hint of anger in Dean's reply.

"Trust me, love, he isn't. He's merely a footsoldier. A good one, but not our main man. No, this goes deeper. That jaundiced-eyed bugger doesn't have enough power to influence a whole city. That comes from one of the big boys. And the only way that can happen is if someone on this side is actually _calling_ the son of a bitch."

"So who are we up against here?"

Cath looked at the two men, her mischief-filled eyes suddenly cold and deadly serious. Sam finally saw a glimpse of the professional soldier that Cath really was. "Beelzebub. Lord of the Flies. Demon of Chaos."

"Shit…"

"And probably a coven that thinks it's a really, really good idea to buy in to the whole upside down cross, black candles and chicken strangling crap that these buggers tend to get up to. Unfortunately, what they don't realise is, it bloody works. For whatever reason. If belief is powerful enough, it creates its own reality. Or at the very least a gateway for something like the Lord of the Flies to come crashing into this dimension and start kicking some serious arse."

"Huh?"

"No, no, she's right! Dean, remember that case we worked on a while back? The internet site about the Hell House? People believed so much in the story that the thing actually happened!"

"All I remember about that one is you glued my damn hand to a bottle!"

"You put itching powder in my pants!"

"Boys? Hello? Still with me here, or are you half way down memory lane and looking for a nice spot for a picnic?"

"Sorry."

"Yeah. Sorry Cath."

"OK. So?"

"We need to find this coven and stop them."

"Good. You got a phone directory in here?"

"We have better." Sam flipped open the laptop. "Behold! We have Google!"

"OK then, Google-boy, check in the area for any occult shops, bookstores and, god help us, covens that are stupid enough to have a Myspace account in New Orleans. Dean? I think it's about time that Child Protection Services paid Michael a little visit, don't you?"

"Shouldn't Dean and I do that?"

"No Sam. CPS always work in couples. The department feels that it's less threatening for a woman to talk to a child than a man. I'll talk to Michael, Dean can talk to his dad. You start following up on the coven aspect. But Sam? Be bloody careful. These bastards can be really nasty customers."

"I'll be fine."

"He will be, Cath. Guess we better get suited up then?"

"Good." Cath stood up. "I'll meet you outside in half an hour. Couple of calls to make first. And Sam? Seriously, love. Be careful." There was genuine concern in her voice and she smiled gently at the man. As she closed the door behind her, both brothers stared after her.

"So."

"What?"

"That's Cath Miller."

"Yep."

"She's not that scary."

Dean stared at his younger brother. "Dude, you have _no idea_!"

Dean closed the door of the motel room and adjusted his tie. He hated wearing suits – it always made him feel like a small part of him was betraying his instinctive hatred of all things Authority. But need's must… He turned and nearly fell over with laughing. If he looked awkward in a suit, then Cath positively oozed gawkiness. She stood, seeming to try to shrink herself away from the cloth and fiddling idly with the lace collar of the blouse. Her hair was pulled back in a French plait and she had a pinstripe skirt suit on with sensible court shoes finishing off the ensemble. She looked like the librarian from Hell.

"Jesus Cath! You! In a SKIRT!"

"If you ever tell anyone about this, I'll hunt you down and kill you for the dog that you are, understand?" Cath glared at the man, who was still shaking with laughter as he pulled the keys of the Impala out of his pocket. He grinned widely at Cath's discomfort.

"Don't worry, I won't. Honestly? It's gonna take a lot of Jack Daniel's to get rid of the image!"

"Oh, cheers for that, Dean. Cheers." She climbed into the passenger seat and slammed the door.

Dean turned the key and the Impala roared into life. He smiled at Cath, but couldn't stop his eyes travelling south. Cath's blouse was actually very flattering, and her curves showed through just enough to get his imagination running into overdrive. Damn, she was fine looking!

"Dean? Eye's up, sweetie. Doesn't matter how much you stare at them, they ain't gonna talk back."

Dean blushed. For the first time in his life, he actually blushed. He felt the colour rise in his cheeks and studiously stared out of the windscreen, trying desperately to focus on driving. Next to him, Cath tried her hardest not to laugh out loud, one hand covering the hint of a smile on her lips. This was going to be an interesting partnership…

The Impala grumbled to a stop outside the house. Cath and Dean climbed out, slammed the creaking doors shut and looked at the property. The whole neighbourhood still showed the scars of that dreadful storm, even now. As they had driven through the city, their playful banter had stilled. Christ, no wonder the people were angry. By the time they arrived at their destination, both hunters were determined that the good people of New Orleans would not have to deal with the Supernatural as well as the natural disaster that had befallen them. Not on their watch… Cath nodded to Dean and they walked up to the door, clicking into 'official' mode. Dean pressed the bell and a figure appeared behind the glass.

"Yes?"

Cath answered. "Mr Pearce? Alex Pearce? It's the CPS. I wonder if we could have a word."

The door opened and Alex stared at the two hunters. Cath flashed her id card at him. "Mr Pearce, I'm sorry to bother you. My name is Cath Monroe, this is my colleague Dean Rogers. We've been assigned to your case."

"What case?"

"We deal with trauma victims, sir."

"You're goddamn grief councillors?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"Screw you." Alex slammed the door in their faces. Dean and Cath looked at each other.

"Ree-ight. That went well…" Dean pressed the bell again. He saw the figure turn and storm back to the door. Alex shouted at them from behind the frosted glass.

"I said, SCREW YOU! What bit of that don't you get?"

Cath's voice was soft and calm. "Mr Pearce? It's not optional, I'm afraid. But perhaps if you just open the door for a second, we can explain."

The door was wrenched open and Alex stood there, glaring at them. "Waddya mean, it's not optional? Who the hell reported me to CPS anyway? For Christ's sake, my _wife_ has just _died! _Do you seriously think I need this shit? Seriously?"

Cath was unfazed. "No, Mr Pearce, I don't think you need this shit. But what I _do_ think is that perhaps me and my partner here can help you a bit more effectively than the rest of the assholes who've probably pestered the shit out of you and your son for the past few days."

Alex was deeply surprised. This was not the normal scripted crap that came out of the mouths of most of these kinds of people. The woman actually talked sense. And what was that accent all about? Alex suddenly started to look at the two people in a completely different light. Their suits didn't fit them. Not in the fact that they physically didn't fit, but in the way the two powerfully built callers didn't look as if suits were their everyday apparel. Suspicion grew in Alex's mind. "Who the hell are you two?"

Dean responded quietly. "We told you, sir. I'm Dean Rogers," He threw a glance to his female companion. Alex registered it. There was a look as if one had been playing a practical joke on the other. Alex was good at reading body language. Very good. "And this is Cath Monr…"

"Bullshit. You ain't from the CPS. No way."

"What makes you say that, Mr Pearce?"

"Because I just know."

Cath looked at the man. "OK then, Alex. Would it make you happier if we told you that we're professional hunters, specialising in the Supernatural?"

Dean was flabbergasted. She was nuts! "Cath! Don't listen to her, Mr Pearce, she's English. They have a weird sense of humour. They call it irony."

Alex looked at Dean. "Man, if she's telling the truth there, I'd rather talk to you than damn CPS!" His gaze went back to Cath. "Are you serious?"

"Do you believe me?"

"You know, it's the damnest thing; I think I do."

"So can we talk?"

The door opened and Alex stepped to one side. Dean followed Cath into the house, still wondering how the hell she had just got the man to open up to them by actually coming clean as to who they really were. Alex led them into the sitting room and gestured at a sofa. Cath and Dean sat while Alex remained standing, his arms crossed defensively. "OK, then. Talk. You say you're hunters. What does that mean?"

Cath relaxed back into the sofa and smiled humourlessly. "We kill things, Alex. Things that aren't supposed to be here. Things that live in your worst nightmares. Things like the bastard that took your wife."

Dean leaned forward, his face serious. "Alex, I know you're grieving for your wife now, but we're here to help in a much more practical way than a bunch of professional huggers, OK? We have a good idea what's behind this and it's something both Cath and I have been hunting for years. And if you can help us, perhaps we can stop more families from going through what you have."

Alex slumped down into the chair opposite them, his face buried in his hands. "She was so beautiful!" His head snapped up, his eyes red and tears running down his cheeks. "I thought after Kathleen, I'd never find someone that beautiful again, but then Mary came into my life and I thought…" His head dropped back into his hands and the two hunters watched him patently, letting him take his own time to compose his emotions. Eventually, Alex threw his head back up and breathed deeply. He looked at them again. "I'm… I'm sorry, folks. It's all been a bit dark in here lately." He tapped the side of his head.

Dean smiled gently. "We understand, Alex. _Believe me,_ we understand."

Alex breathed deeply again and a faint flicker of a smile crossed his lips. He had the feeling that these two really did understand. He had thought he was going mad. Mary's death was completely unexplained. The police were baffled. They had even questioned Alex as to her mental state, but nothing they had come up with could explain the manner in which his beloved wife had died. If that meant that anything natural could be discounted as the cause of her death, then maybe something supernatural had been responsible. And maybe, just _maybe,_ these two people could help him get some closure and get rid of this terrible anger that was burning inside him. He decided to trust them. He stood up. "I'll get us some coffee." He turned, to see his son standing in the open doorway, staring at the visitors. "Hey, little man!" He walked over to his son and ruffled his hair, his strong hand laying protectively on the top of his son's head. "These two nice people have come to talk to us. Wanna say hello to them?" The boy shook his head and buried his face in his father's legs, his thin arms winding around his daddy's body.

Dean got up and walked over to the couple and crouched down on besides the boy. "Hey Michael, it's OK dude. We're here to help. Wanna tell me about the voices?" He laid a gentle hand on the child's shoulder and the boy slowly turned and looked at him, his blue eyes wide.

"You believe me?"

"You bet I do." Dean smiled warmly and nodded in Cath's direction. "So does she, Michael."

"She looks scary."

Dean laughed, unable to contain his amusement at the perceptiveness of the child. "Yeah, she does, doesn't she? But really, it's the monsters that are scared of her. She kicks their asses." Michael looked at the woman, who grinned awkwardly and waved. The boy's attention focused back onto Dean. "So why don't you come and talk to us while your daddy makes us all a drink, how does that sound?"

"OK." Dean felt the little boy's hand slip into his and he was led back to the couch by the blonde-haired child. Cath was grinning widely at him, and he shot her a 'Don't you DARE tell Sam about this!' look at her. They sat back on the couch, the little boy in between the two hunters. He looked from one to the other a couple of times, seeming to be trying to decide something. Eventually he stared hard at Cath. "They keep calling for help. All of them. But there's one man who doesn't. He just stands and watches and smiles at me. I don't like him."

"Why don't you like him, Michael?"

"Because he has funny eyes."

"Funny eyes?"

The little boy turned his attention to Dean. "Yes. They're yellow and horrid."

Dean glanced at Cath, an unspoken confirmation of their fears passing between them. Dean looked back at the child, trying to make his voice as gentle as possible. "When does he come and see you, Michael?" Alex walked in, just in time to hear the tale end of the conversation.

"At night. And sometimes he's out there on the street in the day."

"Every night?"

"Yes. He stands by the window and whispers things to me."

"What does he say?"

"Lots of things. He tells me about all the people who are not supposed to be here. He told me that Mommy wasn't supposed to be here, so she had to go away. He told me about you, too."

Alex stared at his son. "Michael, why didn't you tell me about this man?"

Michael gazed back at his father. "Because I was scared you wouldn't believe me, Daddy."

"Michael, sweetie, we _all_ believe you." Cath stood up. "Alex? This is why we are here. And with your permission, I'd like to come back this evening and see if we can't do something to get rid of this bastard once and for all." She smiled darkly. "Just look on us as a kind of supernatural branch of Rent-O-Kill." Alex nodded his agreement.

"OK, if you think you can help, then I'll take a chance."

As they walked away from the house, Dean and Cath were both lost in their own thoughts. They climbed back into the car and sat there, both just staring ahead down the street. Finally, Dean spoke.

"Cath? If that yellow-eyed bastard shows up tonight, exactly what are we gonna do?" He turned and looked at the Englishwoman. Her features were taught, there was no trace of a smile on her face. She turned and looked at Dean. Dean felt his skin crawl under that gaze. Her eyes were dark, almost black. The fury he had seen in her five years before had returned. And he was sitting right next to her. Right next to a walking hand grenade, with the pin pulled out.

"What do we do, Dean? We kill the bastard, that's what we do." She turned her gaze back to the street. "Now let's get back and see what your brother has uncovered, shall we?"

Dean turned the key and paused. "Cath? You OK?"

Her face still set, she smiled grimly. "Oh yes, Dean. I am very much OK…"

Sam had spent the day wandering the streets of the French Quarter of the city, calling in at every occult shop he found. There were dozens of them. Voodoo was still big in this part of the world, and almost every form of superstition, faith doctrine, wiccan practice and other general occult need was catered for in a maze of dark little shops, stuffed to the rafters with crystals, dried herbs and books. He'd gallantly but politely fought off several offers to cleanse his aura, read his tarot cards and one new ager who had insisted on trying to open his Chi with a large crystal. He was getting nowhere fast. The last shop on his list promised nothing more, as the wind-chime tinkled merrily, blown around by the open door. He scanned the shop, seeing the same nick-nacks as he had in all the others, and the same assistant, idly reading the latest book on unicorns, her chin resting on her hands. She glanced up and smiled sweetly at him. "Merry meet! What can I do for you?"

Sam wandered over. He had been greeted by 'Merry meet!' more times than he cared to count today. It was wearing a bit thin. "Hi. Um, nice shop you have here."

The girl giggled. "What this little ol' place? Why thank you, kind sir!"

Sam's fixed smile was starting to make his face ache. "Yeah, right. Um, I don't suppose you could help me? You see, I'm doing a thesis on the Occult, in particular the practices of covens for a Psychology masters. I would really like to talk to a coven that does that kind of thing, you know? Get the inside story? First hand experience?" He tried to put on his, 'Please help me! I'm really sweet and harmless!' expression, hoping that overuse during the day hadn't turned it into a grimace.

The girl pushed herself up away from her book and rested her hands on the counter. "Well, it's not normally the sort of things covens like to talk about to complete strangers. I mean, people tend to either get the wrong idea or make a joke of it. And the Craft is not something we like to joke about."

Sam kept on trying. "I understand that, um," He glanced at her name badge. "Nikki. But this is no joke, really. I'm genuinely interested."

Nikki smiled again and fluttered her eyelashes at Sam. "Maybe there is something I can do. Why don't you follow me? The back room has some very interesting grimoires that might help your research." She turned and sashayed through a bead curtain, beckoning Sam to follow her, a seductive smile on her lips, her hips swaying. Sam shrugged his shoulders and stepped through the beads, fighting them off as they clung to him.

The blow was sudden, expertly delivered and very effective. Sam slumped to the floor, out cold. A shadow stepped out behind him and the man stood over him, studying his victim. "This the one who been asking all the questions?"

The girl nodded. "Yep. That's him."

The man looked up and smiled darkly. "Good work, Nikki. Very good…"

**_To be continued…_**


	4. AltarBoy

Altar-boy

When the Levees Break – A Supernatural story Chapter 4

Slowly, Sam's eyes came back into focus. He groaned loudly and tried to put his hand up to his face, his throbbing skull tender where the butt of the pistol had made such effective contact. His hand didn't move as the cable ties stopped him dead. He looked down, his eyes still bleary and saw both hands tied to the arms of a wooden chair. He tried to move his feet. Yep. Ankles too. These bastards were good. Cable ties were a complete bitch to get out of. Sam strained against the restraints, his muscles tensing. All that happened was that the ties bit into his flesh.

"There's no point in struggling, Mr Winchester. It's merely a waste of effort and energy. Energy that would be better spent in answering my questions accurately and quickly." The voice was well educated, articulate and as cold as the inside of a deep-freezer. It came from directly behind Sam. Sam felt his skin crawl. The voice chuckled quietly and spoke again. "Very good, Sam! Very good! By this point, most people would have asked who the hell was I and what the hell is going on, blah blah. But you? You wait for more information before giving anything away yourself. Very professional, Mr Winchester, very professional. So, tell me. What does your Stanford educated brain tell you about the situation you're in at the moment?" Sam strained his head around to try and see the owner of the voice, but he was just out of sight.

"My Stanford educated brain tells me that you're scared of something, professor. Me, perhaps?"

"Oh, arrogant, Sammy, very arrogant! "

"It's _Sam._"

"But doesn't your brother call you Sammy?"

"He's earned the right. And he's the only one who ever will. Now, back to those predictable questions you were talking about earlier. Who are you and what do you want?"

The voice chuckled again. "Straight back at you, kiddo. You've been sniffing around all day, asking lots of questions about covens and such dubious activities as raising demons. Why is that?"

"I told your stooly before. I'm doing a thesis…"

"No, you are _not_ doing a thesis for some mythical Psychology masters, Mr Winchester, you are a known hunter. You and that half-witted older brother of yours. Is he still carrying a torch for your dead father?"

Sam struggled violently against the restraints. "You son of a bitch, who the hell ARE YOU?"

"Who am I? Oh, just someone who has his ear to the ground as it were. The hunting community are a chatty lot. They do love to gossip so. I even here that a certain Englishwoman is in town. Now, you see my dilemma."

"I most certainly will if I get out of this chair, pal!"

"Now Sammy, you are in no position to start dishing out threats." The voice got close and Sam knew that the man, if it was a man, was standing directly behind him, his mouth close to Sam's left ear. "I have a problem, and it's this. My personal activities are none of your, your brother's or that bitch Miller's business, understand? Your _investigations_ are causing me problems and upsetting a lot of very important people. New Orleans looks after its own, Mr Winchester. Your involvement is unwarranted and unwelcome. You have until dawn to get out of New Orleans. Or things will start to get very, _very _unpleasant for my _other_ guest."

"What other guest?"

A spotlight snapped on in front of Sam and Mamma Deveau, bound to a wooden cross and gagged with a filthy rag, looked back at him, her eyes pleading for his help. The voice stepped back and chuckled again. "Why, the handsome Mamma Deveau, of course! Personally, I was all ready to just kill you and your brother and take my chances with Miller, but apparently there are those to whom I answer that want you kept alive. Just not alive _here_, Mr Winchester. So you've caught a lucky break. And don't think of any heroics, either. No matter where you are within New Orleans, I will know. I will know your every move, before you even make it. My eyes and ears are everywhere, Mr Winchester, everywhere. And you'll never even see them." The voice was right next to his ear again. It whispered hoarsely into his ear, leaving no room for doubt as to his intentions. "Leave, Mr Winchester. Leave, or Mamma Deveau will never see the sun rise again." As Sam watched, Mamma Deveau let out a muffled scream, choked by the gag. A line of blood appeared across her stomach, as if slashed by some invisible knife. Sam had seen that before.

"You bastard! Let her go!"

A gentle hand stroked his hair and Sam fought the urge to scream at the touch. "Only you can do that, Sam. Only you. You leave, she lives. You stay, she dies. Simple. Even your brother could understand that. Now. I have things to do, so if you'll excuse me, I'll be off. My lovely assistant will be along shortly to ensure to get back to your motel safely. Pack quickly, Sam. The nights are short this time of year."

Sam heard the click of a door closing and he was left alone with the terrified Mamma Deveau. Her eyes were wide with fright. He tried desperately to reassure her. "I promise you, Mamma Deveau, we'll get you out of here. I'll get Dean and…" Mamma Deveau frantically shook her head. That was the last thing Sam remembered as another blow knocked him out cold again…

"SON OF A BITCH!" Dean was furious. His fist punched into the wall as the full enormity of what Sam had told him hit home. His kid brother had been helpless. Mamma Deveau still was. His stomach knotted. He had failed. Failed in his duty to protect them.

"Dean, calm down." Sam winced as he moved the ice pack over the tender area at the back of his head. It felt like he had a lump the size of an egg growing out of his skull, and the bruised tissue throbbed painfully.

"Calm down? Are you _kidding_ me?" Dean spun around and faced his brother, a look of pure rage in his eyes. "You get poleaxed by the bastard, Mamma Deveau is still there suffering god knows what at his whim and fancy, and you're sat there, tellin' me to CALM DOWN? Screw that!" Dean grabbed his leather jacket, thrust a 9mm automatic into his belt and strided towards the door. Before he could reach it, Cath blocked his way, her hand resting flat on his chest, a serious look on her face.

"And where, exactly, do you think you're going?"

Dean's eyes widened in surprise. "What the hell do you mean, where am I going? Where do you _think_ I'm going, Cath? Shopping? Hunting for real estate bargains? The ballet? I'm gonna go get Mamma Deveau outta that damn shop, that's where I'm going! Jesus, Cath, I thought you'd be racing me there, not trying to stop me! Now get outta my goddamn way!"

Cath's hand didn't move. "Will you just bloody stop and _think _for a moment here, Rambo? If you set foot outside that door without the express intention of riding off into the sunset and outta New Orleans, that bastard is gonna know it and Mamma Deveau's lifespan is gonna be considerably shorter." The two hunters faced each other. Stand off. Sam realised that the situation had just taken a very dangerous turn. He knew his brother was far more unpredictable and volatile since their father's death, and Cath's reputation didn't do much to allay his fears of an all-out fight between them. Christ, they were as bad as each other!

"We don't have the time to argue this, Cath." Dean's voice was filled with menace. "Chances are the bastard is gonna kill her whether we leave town or not."

"Dean, if I have to knock you on yer arse, I will." There was just as much menace in Cath's voice as in Dean's.

"I'd like to see you try, bitch!"

The punch made Dean reel backwards, his arms flailing wildly as he tried to stop himself from falling. He landed on his back, the wind knocked out of him. Cath stood over him, a dark look in her eyes.

"Don't you ever call me that again, Dean. I am _sick to the back teeth_ of everyone calling me that, OK?" Her voice was soft and quiet. "Now SIT DOWN and LISTEN, you bull-headed idiot!" Dean glared at the woman from his prone position on the floor and wiped away a trickle of blood that ran from the corner of his mouth with his hand. The air seemed to crackle with tension between them.

"You hit me again Cath, and you and I are gonna go a few rounds, OK?"

Cath smiled broadly at the man. "Is that a date, then, Dean?" She laughed cheerfully. "Right then, old son. Now we have the measure of each other and I've taken the fire outta yer belly a bit, wanna figure out what exactly we are going to do about this situation?" She stretched out her hand towards Dean, gesturing that he should accept it in good grace. Dean stared at her for a few seconds, and then he shook his head and his face split into a grin. He clasped the outstretched hand and tipped his head up to look at her again.

"Cath, we have unfinished business here, right?" Cath hauled the man to his feet and for a split second they were locked in a gaze, their hands still joined. Sam smirked quietly. Oh yes, unfinished business indeed!

Sam coughed discretely and Dean and Cath were suddenly very aware that they were not the only two people in the room. They broke apart, both looking distinctly embarrassed and awkward. Dean sat on the bed opposite his brother and Sam grinned mischievously at him. Dean's brow furrowed in annoyance.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing!" Sam answered brightly. Dean glared at his brother.

"Right then. Um. So where exactly is this shop then, Sammy?"

"French Quarter. But that's no guarantee that's where he's holding Mamma Deveau. Remember, Dean, I was out cold when they put me in there _and_ when they let me go. I woke up in the motel car-park. That room could be anywhere."

The clink of the Zippo caught both brother's attention. "Well, the shop is as good a place as any to start, don't ya think?" Cath lit a cigarette and looked thoughtful. "We got a few hours before Wyatt tries to run us out of Dodge City, so we may as well go have a poke around, turn over a few stones, see what crawls out?" She blew a stream of blue smoke, grinned and winked at the men. "How much _can_ you remember about the place, Sam?"

"I know exactly where it is. The inside was your typical New Age hippy crap. The girl said she had some grimoires in the back room, so I followed her."

"Dude, honestly? You fell for _that_ old chestnut?" Dean couldn't believe it.

"I really didn't have much choice, Dean."

"You always have a choice, Sam! Jesus, wise up a bit will you?" He aimed a playful cuff around the back of Sam's head, remembering just in time that his brother's head was already painful enough without any more slaps to add to his discomfort. He stopped his hand in mid-air and just looked hard at his brother, wagging a finger at him instead.

"There's another thing we may be overlooking here as well." Cath still had that thoughtful look on her face, as if she was playing through the information like a tape in her head. She looked directly at Sam. "We're assuming that the man who interrogated you was the demon, yes?"

"Where you goin' with this?"

"Sam, did you actually _see_ him at any time?"

Sam shook his head and wished he hadn't. He groaned and rubbed the lump again. "No, I didn't. But the way he cut Mamma Deveau was exactly what that bastard did to Dean and all the others."

"I'm not saying that there wasn't a demon present, Sam, I'm saying that the man who clumped you one may not have been him. We may be dealing with a human familiar here."

"I thought only vampires had familiars?"

"Common misconception, Dean. Demons _need_ to be called. Summoned. They can't just pop into this dimension, say hi, do a bit of shopping for souls and then pop back like some kinda sick day trip. No, this bastard has to be called. And that takes skill."

"So?"

"Matey-boy might be a priest. Probably a high priest."

Dean smiled darkly. "And therefore, open to persuasion via torture. Oh, I _so_ wanna meet this dude!"

Cath stubbed out the cigarette and stood up. "Well, let's go have a look-see at Hippy Central, shall we? See if we can find ourselves a warlock?" She grabbed her duster and walked to the door.

"Cath, you know as soon as we walk outta that door, we're open targets? You said it yourself."

Cath turned and looked at Dean. "And you said it yourself, Dean, demons lie. So do high priests. We better face up to the fact that Mamma Deveau may already be dead. Or she may not. Either way, hiding in here is not going to solve anything. What have we got to loose?"

Dean and Sam glanced at each other. Sam stood up and picked up his jacket. "OK then Miss Miller, let's go."

Cath's eyes widened in amusement. "Miss Miller? Seriously, Sam? Rather formal, don't you think?" Dean laughed and stood behind his brother, playfully punching him on the shoulder.

"You'll have to excuse my brother, Cath, Kansas farm boy mentality. You're lucky he didn't call you Ma'am!" The two hunters laughed out loud and Sam felt that he was being excluded from a private joke. He sighed deeply.

"Can we _please_ just get moving?"

The big Land Rover crawled to a stop. Cath turned in the driver's seat and looked at Sam. "Are you _sure_ this is the place, Sam?"

"Absolutely! I don't understand it…"

"Well there's nothing here but trashed houses and wreckage." Dean wrinkled his nose. "And a busted drain somewhere too. Jesus, that stinks!"

"Sulphur."

"What?"

"That smell. It's not drains, Dean, it's sulphur. I think we may be in the right place after all." Cath climbed out of the driver's door and walked around to the back of the Landy. Underneath the floor of the luggage area, she pulled back a panel to reveal an arsenal of weapons that made the brother's eyes widen.

"Damn, Cath, you got enough in there for a small army! What the hell is _that_?" Dean reached out towards a lethal looking curved blade and Cath smacked his hand away.

"Not that one, Dean. NEVER that one. 'Ere. Try this." She picked up a samurai sword and tossed it to him.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me?"

"Listen, smart-arse. Just about every demon you'll come across is goddamn difficult to kill with lead poisoning. But not much I know of gets up after having it's bloody head cut off, supernatural or not!" She grinned at him and fitted her scabbards to her back. The two short swords crossed between her shoulder blades and she dragged her duster on over the top, the pommels of the swords just visible. Sam picked out another short sword, and Cath added to her arsenal with a couple of throwing knives and two 9mm Browning automatics. Dean laughed.

"I thought you said lead poisoning wouldn't be any good!"

"Didn't say it was _just_ demons we're gonna run up against, though, did I?" She grinned back, and slipped a cloth bag into the pocket of her duster.

"Better to be safe than sorry, aih Cath?"

"You got it, kiddo! Now." She turned and looked at the boarded up wreckage of the shop. Her eyes darted up to the roof and around the side. "You wanna take front or back?"

Sam tested the weight of the short sword in his hand. It fitted him perfectly. Cath knew her weapons. He had to admire her for that. "We'll take the back."

"Right you are then. See you inside. And boys?" Her face was suddenly serious. The flippant, good humoured Cath was gone. The professional soldier that was this woman's other side had kicked into gear. She saw these two men as her oppos now. She felt that they were her responsibility. "I know that you two are _damn_ good at what you do, so I'm not gonna patronise you by telling you to be careful. But there's a lot of personal emotion mixed up in this, for _all _of us. Keep it real, boys. No stupid heroics, understood? We all walk out of here alive." She slammed the back of the Land Rover shut. "Go."

The three figures broke and ran towards the shop, two shadows taking the alleyway that ran alongside, the third crouching in front of the door. Cath looked at the padlock that bared the front door to the property. It was rusted closed. The thing hadn't been opened since it had been put there, two years previously. Cath was puzzled. How could Sam have been in here today? Inside a perfectly normal shop, in a perfectly normal street? The whole street had been abandoned, left to the bums, drunks and drug dealers. She picked the padlock and pushed on the door. Still locked. Bugger this. Cath stood up, took a step back, aimed and kicked hard. The door flew open, dust swirling up in the draft. Her duster billowed out behind her. Anything or anyone that was in there now knew that life was about to get very, _very_ interesting. And probably a lot shorter. She grinned darkly. "KNOCK KNOCK!"

Sam and Dean reached the back of the shop, their searchlights cutting through the darkness that enveloped the yard. Sam motioned to Dean and they found the back door into the property. It was hanging off its hinges. No need for lock-picking skills here. The brother's shared a look and stepped inside, gingerly, swords drawn. They picked their way carefully through the debris that littered the floor of the room. Used needles glinted in the torchlight. The place had obviously been used as a drug-den for a while. Just another part of the human misery that had swamped the city, as well as the natural disaster. Dean let out a low whistle. "Man, we've been in some rough joints in our time, bro, but _this_? This really is the pits." Sam didn't answer. "Sam? You OK?"

The hissing of the voices filled Sam's senses. They seemed to be coming from every direction, surrounding him, pawing at him. _Why won't you help us? PLEASE! HELP US! _ He shook his head, his eyes screwed tight closed against the onslaught. They had started in the yard, but as they went into the shop, had grown louder and more menacing.

"Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Those voices. You really can't hear them?"

"Don't hear nothing, Sammy." Dean sounded concerned. He looked back at his brother and his concern turned to genuine worry. "Hey, dude, HEY! Sammy! Look at me!" Sam clutched at his head and yelped in pain as the voices became deafeningly loud. He sank to his knees, unable to think or speak. Dean grabbed him and held on to him, wrapping one arm defensively around his shoulder, the other, sword in hand, ready to strike out at anything that came towards them. The hiss he thought had been a leaking pipe somewhere became louder and gradually, Dean started to hear them too…_ Why won't you help us? PLEASE! HELP US! _The pain became more intense as the voices started to merge with the beating of his heart, pounding through his head. Dean fought the urge to scream in fury at an invisible foe, but the sound of those voices washed over the brothers like a flood, drowning them, beating them to the ground…

"Goddamn sons of bitches!" As quickly as they had appeared, the voices vanished and a cloud of black powder settled over the crouched brothers. Dean sneezed violently and looked up at the figure of Cath. In her hand was the cloth bag. She grinned at him. "Goofer dust. Works every time. You OK?" Dean looked confused and relieved at the same time. He nodded, a small cloud of goofer dust swirling around him as he did. "Good. That should be enough to keep the sods out of our way for the moment, but keep alert. There may be an encore. Now. There's something through here I think you should see." Cath's face was grim. She turned and walked out of the room. Dean hauled his brother to his feet, wordlessly checking that he was OK. Sam nodded and they followed the woman into another room.

Sam's blood ran cold.

In the middle of the otherwise empty room was a simple chair with severed cable ties on the arms and legs. And opposite it?

A large wooden cross with a filthy rag at it's foot. A wide trail of blood led away from the cross and out of the door. Mamma Deveau's blood.

"Is this the room, Sam?" Sam nodded. Dean couldn't look at the cross. He turned his head away, rage boiling inside him. "Then we have a problem." Cath turned to them. All trace of humour was gone. "A big one." Dean looked back at the cross and his rage turned to a dark fear.

"Err, Cath? I think we have a bigger problem than we thought, babes…"

At the foot of the cross, a cloud of black smoke began to boil and churn, rising up out of the floor, pulsing and throbbing as if searching for something.

For _someone…_

_**To be continued.,.**_


	5. Smoke on the Water

Smoke on the water

When the Levees Break – Chapter 5

"It's looking for a host! GET OUT! GET OUT NOW! MOVE! MOVE!" Cath barked the order out and Dean responded without even thinking. He grabbed Sam by the jacket and literally threw him out of the open doorway. As he stumbled behind his brother, he looked back.

"CATH!"

She stood, stock still. The twin swords had slid noiselessly from their scabbards and were now held loosely in each hand, the blades glinting in the half-light. She seemed somehow taller, more imposing than before. The green eyes had turned dark, a darkness that hinted at something more sinister… Dean shouted at the woman.

"CATH! For Christ's sake, GET OUT!"

The black cloud snaked its way towards the woman and for a second she took her eyes off it and locked her gaze with Dean. She smiled lazily and winked at him. "Watch and learn, son. Watch and learn." The black, formless cloud seemed to take on a snake-like appearance and slithered and writhed its way closer, closer…

Cath's swords were a blur. The steel sang through the air with a high-pitched scream like glass being cut with a diamond. The twin swords slashed through the cloud and it recoiled, rearing up again and again like a cobra in front of the woman. Dean couldn't just stand there and watch any longer. He had to do something. His own sword raised above his head, he ran at the squirming black entity and, as Cath's swords sliced in a vicious counter move, his own blade arched down through the swirling mass. Strangely enough, it felt as if the blade actually bit into something more substantial than smoke. It felt as if it were slicing into living flesh. Dean heard an unearthly scream that seemed to come from within his own skull as he brought the blade back around in a perfect back-swing. The cloud recoiled from the relentless flurry of blows the two hunters dealt out and, as suddenly as it had appeared, the cloud disappeared back through the floor, back to whatever Hell it came from. Silence flooded into the room. The unearthly scream stopped abruptly as Dean and Cath faced one another, swords hanging limply from their limbs. Dean was exhausted. It had felt that all his energy had been sucked out of him in the short battle. He breathed heavily, sweat gleaming on his brow. He watched Cath. Her head was bowed, her eyes closed. The sword tips seemed to drip some kind of viscous fluid. Blood? Slowly, Cath lifted her head and her eyes opened. There was no trace of the darkness that had been there before. Her face was expressionless.

Dean felt a hand rest on his shoulder. "Dean? You OK?" There was deep concern in his brother's voice.

"Yeah, fine. Fine."

"Dude, look at the blade!" Dean looked down to see the same thick, black liquid coating his own blade. A single drop hung from the very tip of the blade, for a second suspended in space. It slowly dropped to the floor. As soon as it touched the wood, it hissed and spat, boiling away to nothing in seconds.

"Yeah. I, err, wouldn't touch that crap if I was you, old son. Cath bent down and picked up a bit of old rag and, carefully and _very_ thoroughly, cleaned the sticky black mess from each sword. In one smooth move, both blades were back in their homes, the scabbards resting perfectly between her shoulder blades. She carefully passed the rag to Dean, indicating he should follow suit. Dean made damn sure that every last drop of the toxic blood was removed from the steel. He dropped the rag and flipped open the lid on his Zippo. The rag flared violently and burned with a phosphorescence that lit the whole room like daylight. The rag turned to ashes in seconds. Dean was about to scatter the ash with his boot when Cath stopped him. "Hold up there, Dean. That could come in useful." She bent down and carefully eased the fine powder into a plastic bag. Sam was intrigued.

"Cath, why are you…"

"Demon blood, Sam. Purified by fire. Very effective. A bit like really, _really_ concentrated goofer dust. She carefully sealed the back up and slipped it into the pocket of her duster. She stood up, wiping her hands on the back of her tatty jeans.

"So how would you use that stuff?" Sam was genuinely interested, his ever inquiring mind storing away the information. No wonder Dean called him a geek…

Cath smiled brightly at Sam. "You know what? I have absolutely _no idea_, Sam, but I'm thinkin' chuck it at a demon, see what happens, aih? Worst case scenario? He has a sneezing fit and we get a good opportunity to run away!" She grinned happily. "Could be bloody lethal to them, could be bloody useless."

Sam looked totally confused. "What? I thought you…"

Dean laughed quietly. "Dude, she's makin' fun of you. You know something, Cath? You're completely crazy!"

Cath's smile faded. "Oh no, Dean, not crazy. Just not prepared for this job to end up giving me an ulcer. Of course I know what to do with the powder, Sam. It's exactly the same as any witchcraft or voodoo spell. If you possess something like the blood or hair of someone, you can use it in spells against them. Same thing with demon blood." She smiled darkly. "I _own_ his arse now, baby!"

Dean felt distinctly uncomfortable. Cath's sense of humour was dark to say the least. And he wasn't as immune to picking up on hidden meanings as his brother thought he was. He knew Cath's history. What she had been through… Maybe it was no wonder that she trod a very fine line now between being able to control the black fury he knew was buried deep in her heart, a burning desire for revenge, a total disregard for her own life, and loosing that control and finally giving into the rage. He knew that feeling only too well…

"Right then. Suppose we'd better have a shoofty around this shithole, see what other secrets it's tryin' to keep to itself." Cath turned and disappeared through the doorway. Dean stared after her for a moment, and then turned to his brother, his face serious.

"Still think she's nothin' special, Sam?" Sam didn't say a word. Dean knew that his brother finally realised that the woman was very different from anyone they had met before. And more than their match. Much more. "OK then, little bro. See anything familiar in here? Anything outta place?"

Sam scanned the room, his eyes searching for a clue, any clue, no matter how small. Buried deep in a corner of the room, something glinted and caught his attention. "What's that?" He crossed the room and bent down. His fingers closed around something coin sized. His fingertips could feel the outline of a design. He stood up slowly, staring at the disc as it lay in the palm of his hand. He turned it over, studying the design.

"Whatchya got, dude?"

"I don't know. It looks like some kind of amulet." He turned the disc over again. "I'm sure I've seen this design before…"

"Let me have a look." Dean rubbed some of the dirt from the disc face with his thumb, and the pattern became clearer. A memory came to Dean. A bad one. "Chicago. That Zoroastrian symbol we found in the apartment." He looked at his brother, his eyes dark at the memory of the savage path that the discovery of the symbol had led them down. A path that ultimately ended in the death of his father. He could barely contain his anger. "This is that yellow-eyed bastard's glyph!" A muscle in Sam's jaw twitched. It all clicked back into place. He knew the significance of the glyph. A wave of anger filled him.

"So it _was_ the demon that had me here. But why did he let me go, Dean? He said that people he answered to wanted me alive. Just not alive _here_." Sam ran his hand through his hair, a look of confusion on his face. "He said that he was all ready to kill me, but he was under orders."

"So?"

"So? D'you think Cath could've been right about a bigger demon callin' the shots?"

Dean nodded. "Probably. When it comes to demons, that woman is usually right, Sam. Like I said, she specialises in this kinda thing." He smirked. "I dunno, man, maybe it's how she gets her kicks, ya know? The bigger the demon, the bigger the turn-on!"

Sam stared at his brother. "You know something, Dean? You can be a real jerk-off when you wanna be!" He turned away. "I'm gonna check upstairs." He turned into the hallway, leaving Dean alone in the empty room. Dean stared at the retreating back of his brother and shrugged, a bemused smile on his face.

"What? What d'I say?"

Sam slowly made his way through each room. Nothing. Nothing except dust and cobwebs. No footprints had disturbed the grime that coated every surface for years. He still couldn't understand how, only hours earlier, this place had been a fully functional shop, complete with airhead hippie assistant and wind chimes. His flashlight cut a path through the gloom, probing into dust-coated corners.

"He's angry at you."

Sam spun around to see the figure of Michael standing in the doorway. His blonde hair was haloed around his head, illuminated by the half-light of a street lamp that shone through a window. "Michael! What are you doing here?"

"He told me to come here. To tell you." Sam bent down in front of the young boy.

"To tell me what, Michael?"

"That he's angry. You disobeyed him. He told you to go away from here."

"I couldn't do that, Michael. He has a friend of ours. We have to help her."

The boy took a step forward, his face only inches from Sam's own. Sam recoiled in horror, scrabbling back away from the child. His eyes were as black as the pits of Hell. The child smiled a chilling smile. "Your friend is dead, Sammy." The child's voice took on a deep, hoarse tone, a voice far too old to belong to the child. "Dead because of you." Michael smiled again. It sent a chill down Sam's spine, down to his very soul. "She took a long time to die, Sammy. A very _long_ time."

"I don't believe you. Why would you kill her? She was no threat to you."

Michael rolled his eyes. "Are you terminally stupid, Sammy? Did I not warn you that, unless you left, she would die? And have you left? No. You, your brother and that woman are still here. Those two I couldn't care less about. They are meaningless. But you?" The boy chuckled. "You are worth so much more. Don't you understand, Sammy? I was trying to _help_ you! Against my better judgement, it has to be said, but as I said before, there are those with, um, _influence_ that want you alive. Now. What do I have to do to convince you? Kill someone else for you to get the message?" The child looked thoughtful for a moment. "Your brother, perhaps?" Michael rubbed the top of his arm. "I mean, that little stabbing session earlier actually hurt, you know? And you know me, Sammy. Payback is gonna be a bitch!"

"You touch my brother and…"

"And you'll what, Sammy? You'll kill me? Banish me? What, _exactly_, _can_ you do?" The slow, lazy smile on the child's face enraged Sam. Michael stepped closer, almost within touching distance.

"He may not be able to do much at the moment, you son of a bitch, but I can!" Michael spun around. Cath Miller stood in the doorway, that same lazy smile on her face. For a split second, Sam wondered if both the child _and_ Cath were possessed… Without even seeming to move, Cath hurled the contents of the bag into the child's face, and Michael threw his head back and screamed, long and loud. The black cloud poured out of his mouth and twisted back on itself, vanishing through the floorboards. The child collapsed into Sam's arms, out cold. Dean skidded into the room, grabbing at the doorframe to stop himself from barrelling into Cath.

"Sammy! You OK?"

Sam cradled the child in his arms and looked up at his brother. "I think we'd better get Michael home, don't you?"

Dean looked stunned. "Home? What the hell is he doing here anyway?"

Sam stood up, the limp form of the child in his arms. "I'll tell you on the way. Cath? Bring the car around the front." Cath smiled briefly and turned to move past Dean. Their eyes met for a second, Cath's green orbs serious. Dean knew immediately what she wanted him to do. He drew his sword again and nodded at her. If anything was still here, he would stop it from getting to Sam or Michael. Stop it, or die trying…

Alex was woken by the pounding on his door. He flipped on the light and climbed out of bed, grumbling to himself. "OK OK! Goddamn, do you people know what time it is? Christ!" He wrenched open the front door and gasped. Standing in front of him were the man and woman whom had visited him before, and a taller, younger looking man. They all looked deadly serious. In the taller man's arms lay the limp form of his son. "ALEX!" He snatched the boy from Sam. Michael moaned softly and Alex turned, almost running into the living room. He lay the boy down on the sofa and picked up the phone.

"Who are you calling, Alex?" Dean had stepped into the living room, his movements fluid and precise. Like a hunter. Like the hunter he said he was.

"A doctor, you idiot! What the hell have you done to my son?"

Cath's finger pressed down on the phone connector. "That won't be necessary, Alex. Michael is unharmed." She gently took the handset from him and placed it back in its cradle. "But you and the boy need to leave. Now. Do you have any family you can stay with? Preferably a long way away from here?"

"What? No! Look, I'm not leaving my home in the middle of the night on the say-so of some crazy English bitch…"

Dean winced. "Man, don't call her a bitch. Seriously, dude, don't."

Alex ignored him. "…Some crazy English bitch and her two lap-dogs! Now get the HELL out of my house before I call the Police!" He stood up angrily, the muscles on his powerful arms tense, his fists balled loosely and ready to punch.

"Alex, please, listen to us…" Sam tried to reason with him, his eyes pleading with the frightened and angry man.

"NO! I'm done listening to you freaks! Get out of my house! Get out!"

"If you and your son don't leave _now_, we can't protect you. There are things happening here that are far bigger than you can imagine. If you stay here, there is a good chance you will both die." Cath's voice was cold and flat.

"Are you _threatening_ me?"

"Jesus, Alex, we're the _good_ guys here! We are trying to make sure that you and Michael stay safe! Don't you remember what we told you before? About who we are and what we do? Did you think it was some kind of _joke_?" Dean looked quickly at Cath. She looked tired and frustrated. "Alex, think, will you? Your wife, all those other people? You're a fire-fighter, right? How many call-outs have you had where the deaths can't be explained?"

Alex glared at the woman, but he started to realise that, even if he didn't believe what was going on here, she did. And she was making sense. "Your point?"

"My point is that there are things happening in this world that can't be explained by some programme on the Discovery Channel, Alex. Things that people hope and pray never happen. Things that you have no control over. Now, please. I'm asking you. Protect yourself and Michael by getting out of town for a few days. Let us do our job without having to worry about you two." She stood up. "I don't know about you lot, but I need a couple of hours sleep. Think about what I said, Alex. And please, don't let Michael out of your sight." She turned and walked out of the house, leaving the man and his son alone with the two brothers. Alex watched her leave and then turned to Sam.

"You seriously believe all this shit?"

"Alex, we don't have to believe in it. We _know_ it's real. And the danger is real, too. She's right. I know she can be a bit abrupt in the way she puts it, but she is right. It would be safer for you and Michael to get away for a few days." Sam pulled a piece of paper and a pen out of his pocket and jotted a number down. "Here's my cell-phone number. If you need us, call. Don't hesitate, Alex, just call. OK?" He held out the scrap of paper and Alex took it, reluctantly. Sam and Dean left the man, staring at the piece of paper, trying desperately to understand what he had just been told. And where had his son been?

What the _hell_ was going on here?

Cath was waiting for them in the Land Rover. The brothers climbed in to the big car and there was a moment's silence as they all thought back over the events of the past few hours. Dean turned to Cath.

"So? What now?"

"I'll drop you two off back at the motel. Then I'm gonna check out Mamma Deveau's place, see if there's anything there we can use."

"I thought you were gonna get a couple of hours sleep."

"No time for that. I need to find out if there is a coven working some bad mojo here." A hard look entered her eyes. "And then stop the bastards before anyone else dies." She turned the key and the Land Rover spluttered and grumbled into life.

Moments later, they arrived back at the motel. Sam climbed out of the back seat and walked up to their room, his mind turning over. Dean paused, his hand resting on the handle of the door. "Cath?"

"Hmm?"

"There's a couple of things I don't understand. How come the swords worked on that bastard?" He stared hard at the woman, demanding an answer.

"They're special swords, Dean. Yours was made by a very powerful swordsmith about three hundred years ago. It was made with the specific purpose of fighting demons. The Japanese knew about this kind of thing centuries ago. You know the legend that every Samurai sword is given a name, a purpose?"

"No, I didn't, but hey, at the moment, I'll take anything that comes up!"

Cath smiled briefly. "Well, trust me, it's true. As for my little babies, well, that's another story." She faced Dean. He could see that there were dark circles under the woman's eyes. She looked like she hadn't slept in days. Her gaze rested on Dean's chest and her eyes widened. Suddenly her hand shot out and she grabbed the amulet that Dean always wore. She held it close to his face. "Where did you get this?" Her face was deadly serious.

"What?"

"This amulet. Where did you get it, Dean?"

"My mom gave it to me when I was little. She told me it was for protection, and that I should always wear it." A wave of sadness washed through Dean. "It's all I've got to remind me of her. Why is it so damn interesting to you?"

Cath let go of the amulet and sat back, studying him. Dean shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. It seemed to go right into his soul. She reached inside her tee-shirt and pulled out a necklace. She held the necklace up, the golden face of the amulet glinting in the darkness. "Look familiar, Dean?"

"What the…"

She tucked the amulet back into her tee-shirt. "We need to talk. You and me. Very soon. But it will have to wait for the moment. I'll be back in a couple of hours. If I can find anything at Mamma Deveau's house to help us with this shit, I'll let you know. Meantime, the best thing you and your brother can do is get a couple of hours sleep. Go on."

"Hang on a minute, Cath. We ain't finished here…"

"Dean, bugger off will you? I'll be back later." Dean could see from the look on her face that she was serious. He shrugged his shoulders and climbed out of the car. Before he slammed the door closed, he turned to her one last time.

"Cath? Be careful, OK?"

Cath grinned at him. "Always am, old son! Always am!" As Dean closed the door, Cath gunned the engine and the big car shot off into the night. Dean watched it disappear, playing idly with his amulet. What the hell was that all about? Dean turned and wearily made his way back to the motel room…

In the darkness, a circle of flickering candles gave off an eerie light that just about illuminated the chalk markings on the floor. In the centre of the circle, a crucible smoked and spluttered, a foul yellow cloud billowing out of the top. The man muttered an incantation and hurled a handful of powder into the black recesses of the pot. The action caused a ball of fire to erupt, the choking fumes filling the room. Beverly felt the smoke sting her eyes, but she held back the desire to choke and gag from the stench. The other members of the coven bowed their heads, lost in the powerful magic that pulsed through the room. The man looked up.

"Three people come. Two warriors and a Child of the Darkness." His black eyes scanned the circle, looking for any weakness, any dissent. Briefly, his glance rested on Beverly, the black eyes boring into her. She bowed her head quickly, not wanting to meet his gaze, not wanting him to think that she was challenging him. He looked back into the goblet that rested in his hands. His fingers dipped into the liquid and he drew them back out, the blood dripping from his fingertips. A vicious smile spread across his face. "Your will, my lord." He looked up at the circle of men and women gathered around him. "The warriors must die. The Child of Darkness is to be protected at all costs. _At all costs_."

A member of the circle spoke quietly. "The name of the Child?"

"Sam. His name is Sam…"

_**To be continued…**_


	6. Unlikely Allies

Unlikely Allies

When the Levees Break – A Supernatural story Chapter 6

Dean closed the door behind him and leaned against it, a thoughtful look on his face. His fingers still held the amulet as he felt the familiar features of the gold pendant.

"Dean? You OK?"

Dean snapped back. "Fine. Just peachy." He pushed himself off the door and walked into the bathroom. "I need a shower. Wash the crap off me." He slammed the door behind him and Sam stared at the barrier between him and his brother. A barrier that seemed to be getting wider by the day…

Dean stood under the shower, one hand pressed against the slippery tiles, the other running through his hair. The beads of hot water bounced off his face as he tipped his head up into the flow, trying to wash the memories of the battle with the demon from his mind. It didn't work. His thoughts were doing cartwheels. What the hell did Cath mean? And how come she wore exactly the same amulet as he did? More questions. Still no answers. The only thing that did make him feel more positive about the whole, sorry mess was the knowledge that he _could_ hurt that demon bastard. He had felt the sword bite into the thing. Seen its blood. If it could bleed, it could be killed. The hand pressing against the tiles balled into a fist as Dean felt a knot of anger rising up in him. They were close. And the yellow-eyed son of a bitch was jumpy. Perhaps the wind was changing in their favour at long last. The water cascaded down him, the heat of it making his skin tingle as if a million needles were jabbing into him. It felt good. He stood motionless, letting his mind wander, his eyes closed…

Sam pounded on the bathroom door. "Dean! C'mon dude, you've been in there for an hour! You use all the hot water and I am so gonna kick your ass!" The sound snapped Dean back into the here and now and he glanced over at the door. He turned the shower off and wrapped a towel around his waist, the water still running in rivulets down his torso. He picked up the amulet and carefully placed it back around his neck, taking one last look at it. He stared at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror and smiled darkly.

"Oh yes, Cath. We definitely need to talk…"

The Yale took about three seconds to submit to Cath's lock-picking skills. The front door of Mamma Deveau's home swung open and Cath moved in carefully, torch in one hand, Browning 9mm in the other. Her eyes scanned every millimetre of the immaculate house as she stepped silently through each room. She came to the living room door and paused. Something wasn't right… Her instincts went into overdrive and her whole body posture changed, ready to take on whatever was in there. Cath nudged the living room door with her knee and it swung slowly open. The snout of the Browning came up, seeming to sniff the air, the beam of the torch cutting through the darkness. A low moan instantly caught her attention and the flashlight swung onto the sofa.

"Shit!" Cath did a split second check of the rest of the room before tucking the Browning back into her belt and moving quickly to the figure lying on the sofa. She crouched down beside the figure, one hand checking for a pulse, the other resting gently on the woman's cheek. "Liza! Liza, can you hear me?" The woman's eyes opened slowly, the soft, brown orbs filled with pain.

"Cath…" Her voice was barely a whisper.

Cath grabbed the phone that lay next to the sofa. Thank god, there was a dial-tone. She punched in 911. "Medical emergency. A woman has been attacked in her home. She's badly injured." Cath barked out the address. "Her name? Liza Deveau. You get that ambulance here now!" She slammed the receiver down and turned her attention back to Mamma Deveau, her face filled with concern. "Jesus, Liza, we thought you were dead!"

Mamma Deveau smiled through the pain. "So did I, honey, so did I!" Cath didn't take her eyes off the woman. Mamma Deveau clung on to Cath's hand, her fingers still slippery with her own blood. "Cath, the boys, are they OK?"

"They're fine. What are we up against here, sweetie?"

"A coven. They call themselves the Bringers of Chaos."

"That's just cheesy!" Cath smiled gently, trying to disguise the urgency in her voice with reassuring humour. "Seriously?" Mamma Deveau nodded and attempted a laugh. The laugh turned into a quiet cry of pain and the grip on Cath's hand tightened. "Hang on in there, Liza. Hang on."

"Oh, I ain't goin' anywhere, honey, believe me!" A cough racked her body and Cath could see the blood on her lips. She wiped the woman's mouth with the corner of the table cloth, the red stain spreading quickly on the crisp white linen. Outside, Cath could hear the wail of the sirens as the ambulance tore down the street towards Mamma Deveau's house.

"Listen, Liza. I've told them you were attacked, OK? My people will make sure you're well looked after. Is there anything else you can tell me before the cavalry arrives?" Mamma Deveau nodded.

"They want Sammy. And they want you and Dean dead. But it's worse than that, Cath. They're gonna try to call him. They're gonna try to open a portal and let him through. Sammy is to be the vessel!"

"That yellow-eyed son of a bitch! This is his doing, isn't it?" Mamma Deveau shook her head urgently.

"No Cath, that's just it! That's why I'm still alive! It's not him they're working for, it's something else. That's why he tried to get Sam to leave! That's why he let me live so I could tell you. He knew you'd come here. Cath, there's a war going on in Hell. Demon against demon. And this is just the start of it. This…" Mamma Deveau's eye's tightened as another wave of pain flooded through her. Cath heard the sound of running footsteps and two police officers burst into the room, guns drawn.

"DON'T MOVE, LADY!" The two regulation-issue revolvers were trained on the woman crouching beside the bloodied body.

Cath stood up and stared hard at the two policemen. "I'm going for my ID, OK?"

"We said, don't MOVE!" The police officers had seen the state of the woman lying on the sofa. What the hell had this bitch done to her?

"You stupid arseholes, I was the one who called you!" Cath ignored the sound of the two revolvers being cocked and reached into her pocket. She pulled out a wallet and flipped it open. The policemen's eyes widened.

"Oh shit…"

Cath flipped the ID closed, a hard and angry look on her face. "Oh shit, indeedy, old son! This woman is a witness in a federal case. Now, I suggest that, unless you want your oh-so promising careers to end _right now_, you let the paramedics in and get her to a hospital very, _very_ quickly!" She stalked towards the policemen, pushing them roughly out of the way. "In there." She nodded to the paramedics and they moved in quickly. Outside, the blue and red lights lit up the street, strobing incessantly. A plain-clothes officer climbed out of a black sedan and walked towards the woman.

"And who the hell are you, lady?" Cath flipped out the ID again. The plain-clothes cop started back. "What the crap are you doin' here? This is Liza Deveau's house, What do the NSA have to do with an attack on an old woman?" He was now really wishing he hadn't responded to the call.

"You don't need to know that. All you need to know is that Liza Deveau is _very_ important to us, and her well-being is now your _personal_ responsibility." Their conversation stopped as the paramedics brought out Mamma Deveau on a gurney. Cath watched them load her into the ambulance, and it wailed off into the night. She turned her attention back to the plain-clothes cop. "We'll take over from here. I want your men to secure the scene but if I catch any _one_ of your people going in there, I'll bust you personally back down to directing traffic in Tampa, OK? You I want at the hospital. You stand guard over Liza until my people get there." She stared hard at the police officer. "You still here?" The cop took his cue and climbed back into his car. He glared at the woman, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

"God I _hate_ Feds!"

Cath watched him drive away and flipped open the phone. She hit a speed-dial number and spoke quietly into the receiver for a minute. She snapped the phone shut, satisfied that the clean-up team were on their way and that two highly trained Special Agents were en-route to the hospital to stand guard over Liza Deveau. The rest was up to her. Her and the Winchester brothers. She climbed into the big Land Rover and started up the engine, leaving the flashing lights of the emergency services behind her. At least now she was starting to get a few answers…

Sam tapped quietly away on the laptop, not really knowing what he was looking for. Dean lay on the bed, seemingly asleep. Sam knew different. His brother had things on his mind. Things he didn't feel inclined to talk about just now. God, Sam _hated_ it when Dean got like this. He knew that his older brother had always had a habit of bottling his emotions up inside him, but this was getting ridiculous. But Sam also knew that trying to push Dean into talking would only result in them fighting again. Right at this moment, that was the last thing he wanted. He ran his hand through his hair and sat back in the chair. "I just wish I had some idea as to what we're looking for here."

"Hmm?" Dean's eyes were still closed.

"I said…"

"I heard what you said, Sammy." Dean opened his eyes and pushed himself up on one elbow. He looked at his brother, concern on his face. Sam looked tired and worried. It was hardly surprising. What they had thought was a simple hunt was now starting to take on rather bigger proportions. The demon was in town. There was a coven out there working with it. Mamma Deveau was dead. Everything was spinning out of control around them. Dean quietly laughed.

"What's so damn funny, Dean?"

"Ah, nothin', little brother."

Sam nearly exploded. "Don't give me that nothin', Dean! What's so _goddamn funny_?"

Dean swung his legs down onto the floor and stood up. He walked over to the coffee machine and poured out two cups. He turned, a cup in each hand, and offered one to his brother. A peace offering, Sam thought to himself. Dean took a mouthful of the coffee and sat back down on the bed. "Maybe we should've just passed this one by, Sammy."

"Are you _kidding_ me?"

Dean shook his head. "No. I'm serious. It just feels wrong, ya know? Outta control."

"Dean, our lives have been outta control ever since I can remember. What the hell is so different about this one? What did Cath say to you?"

"Why you tryin' to pin this on her?"

"Why are you so damn quick to defend her? You were the one who told me she was trouble. Well, bro, you got that bit right!" Sam could feel the anger boiling up inside him again. His reluctance to fight with his brother started to evaporate. The rages were happening more and more frequently. A wave of fury would fill him and it would be all he could do to stop himself from venting it on the closest person. The closest person was usually Dean. Sam slammed the coffee cup down on the table. His eyes flashed angrily. "Ever since she walked in here, you've been acting like you used to around Dad."

"Don't bring Dad into this, Sammy." Dean could feel his own anger boiling up. Here we go again…

"Why not, Dean? Because you know I'm right? Because you know it's true?"

"Sammy, I'm warning you…"

"What you gonna do, Dean? Take another swing at me?"

"Sam, if I have to, yes!" The brothers stood, nose to nose. "You always think it's about you, don't you? Always about you! Well guess what, baby brother? This time it's _not_ just about you and your damn special powers, OK? This is bigger."

"Say's who?" 

"Say's Cath!"

"Oh, and of course, she can't _possibly_ be wrong, can she, Dean?"

Dean turned his back on his brother, his fists balled and ready to punch. "I don't need this shit, Sam. I really don't." He shook with the effort of trying to control his temper.

"And you think I do, Dean? You think I need to be told by a possessed ten year old boy that the demon wants to kill my brother but wants me safely outta town because some bigger demon says so? You think I want to hear that? You think that's easy to deal with when you're making puppy-dog eyes at some English bitch? A bitch you said _yourself_ was nothing but trouble? You wanna take her word over mine, Dean?"

"ENOUGH!" Dean's fist slammed into the wall and he spun around, sheer rage on his face. "That's ENOUGH, Sam! You have NO damn idea as to how big this is, OK?"

"And you do?"

"YES! Jesus Christ, will you listen to yourself? You sound like a stroppy teenager! People's lives are at stake here, Sam, OK? I've lost another person tonight who I cared about, another person I couldn't save, because I was so damn busy protectin' your goddamn ass! Mamma Deveau is dead because we stayed here, OK? So yeah, maybe we should've passed this one over to Cath and got the hell outta town. Maybe Mamma Deveau would still be alive then! But that's all past history now, isn't it? So we're here, we find the demon, we _kill_ the demon and we leave. I don't care how we do it. But you remember this, little brother. Cath Miller is on OUR side, OK? She's _not_ the enemy! And she's a specialist, Sam. So have the good grace to realise that, get down off your damn high horse and work _with _her, instead of trying to butt heads with her all the time like you used to with Dad!"

Sam lashed out. Blindly. He felt his fist connect with Dean's cheek bone. He didn't pull the punch. The full force of the blow sent Dean sprawling onto the floor, where he lay for a few seconds, dazed. Then the red mist came down. In an instant he was on his feet and charging at his brother. He tackled Sam to the ground, getting in three or four punches before they'd even hit the floor. This time there was no holding back. Both brothers were in the grip of a fury that would only end with one of them getting seriously hurt…

"What the HELL do you two think you're doing!" Cath Miller stood in the doorway watching the vicious battle. She pulled out the Browning and fired a shot into the ceiling. The crack of the automatic stopped the fight in an instant. Sam and Dean both stared at her, battered and bloody. Sam's eye was beginning to close, the swelling showing where Dean's fist had found its mark. Blood ran from Dean's nose and a nasty cut on his left cheek. Cath could still see the dark rage in both their eyes. But the look on her face made a cold chill run down both their spines. "Get up. Both of you."

Dean pushed himself back and hauled himself up onto one of the beds. Sam lay on the floor, glaring at the woman in the doorway. Dean looked at him, idly wiping the blood away from his nose with the back of his hand.

"How much of that did you hear, Cath?"

"Oh, enough, Dean. Enough." Cath closed the door behind her and put the Browning back into her belt. She walked into the bathroom and appeared seconds later with two towels. She hurled one at each of the brothers. "Clean yerselves up." She turned her back on the men and poured herself a coffee from the machine. The Englishwoman sat down, one long leg dangling over the arm of the chair. The flair of a Zippo flashed brightly and Cath inhaled on a cigarette, giving both brothers the time to calm down. She blew out a stream of blue smoke and stared hard at Sam. "So this is your idea of getting a couple of hours sleep, is it? Rolling around on the floor like a couple of playground kiddies, kicking the crap outta each other? _That_ was productive, wasn't it?"

"Screw you, Cath." Sam wiped his face and spat blood into the towel. Dean's eyes flashed angrily and he started to rise.

"Sit _down_, Dean. Sam is merely expressing his deeply felt regard for me, aren't you, Sam? What exactly have I done to piss you off, son? Tell me." Cath grinned mischievously at the man.

"Don't call me son, OK?"

The mischievous grin on Cath's face vanished in an instant. "Fine. Then don't call me a bitch, Sam." Her voice was level and calm, but Dean could hear the dangerous undertone. "_Anyway_, whilst you two were having a personal bitch-slapping session, I've actually gone and got some good news for you. Mamma Deveau is alive. Hurt bad, but alive."

"What?"

"I went to her house. Just a gut feeling, but hey, that's proved me right on several occasions, so I ran with it. She's at the hospital now." The brothers listened to every word as Cath recounted the conversation she had had with Mamma Deveau. They couldn't believe it.

Finally, Sam looked at Cath. "So you're telling me that the demon is actually trying to _protect_ us? Seriously?"

"Yep. Difficult to believe, I know. But I did say that this was big, didn't I? Sam, as hard as I know it is for you to accept this, that son of a bitch _is_ trying to help us. For whatever reason, he wants you safe and sound. Granted, he wants to rip mine and Dean's heads from our shoulders, but hey, nothin' new there. No, what makes this really interesting is that this coven we thought were working for him are actually working in cahoots with another demon. A demon our yellow-eyed buddy doesn't particularly like. He left Mamma Deveau alive so she could give us this information. Enough for us to do something about it."

"So we're working for the demon now? Is _that_ what you're suggesting?"

"Sam, do you _ever_ listen to what's being said to you? NO! First opportunity we get, I'll happily hold the bastard down while you and Dean get all stab-happy on the son of a bitch! What I _am_ saying is that he's not exactly gonna stand in our way if we go after this coven. And that's our best shot of stopping whatever is goin' on in this screwed-up town." She stubbed the cigarette out and glanced at Dean. "Sweetie, could I have a moment with Sam?" Dean stood up and looked at his brother.

"OK. I could do with some air, anyway." He opened the door and stepped outside, quietly pulling the door shut. Cath stared hard at Sam.

"What?"

"Oh, I'm just trying to work out how to actually talk to you without you getting all defensive on my arse, Sam." She held her head in her hand for a moment. She breathed deeply and looked up. "Look Sam. I don't know what I've done to piss you off so bad, so perhaps you'd care to explain it to me."

Sam picked up the coffee cup from the table and stared into it. "I guess we just kinda clash."

"Bullshit."

Sam looked up. "OK, you want the truth? I don't like the way Dean acts when he's around you. He changes. Changes into someone I don't recognise. It used to be the same with Dad. It was like he turned into some kind of drone, just waiting for the next order."

Cath smiled. "Christ, you're a headstrong little bugger, ain't ya? Sam, what do you think I'm doing here? You think I'm trying to come between you and Dean, is that it? Because believe me, that is _not_ what I've got in mind, OK? We're here to do a job. Here to try and stop whatever it is from crashing headfirst into our world and royally screwing it up. Personal feelings have got no place in all this, Sam. No place at all. There _are_ things I need to talk to Dean about, important things. But at the moment, I have other priorities. And I suggest that we put whatever differences we have with each other aside and look at the bigger picture, ya think?"

Sam nodded and carried on staring into the depths of the coffee cup. Cath stood up and picked up the coffee jug. She walked over to the man and poured hot coffee into his cup. "Whatever opinion you've formed about me is your business, old son. Personally, I don't give a shit what you think of me. I really don't. But grant me the courtesy of agreeing that I have a little more experience in this particular field than you, and may be able to actually contribute something that gets us _all_ out of this alive, OK? Like your brother said, let's try to stop butting heads all the time and work together." She paused, and their eyes locked. "Either that, or get the fuck out of town and off my watch, Sam. Because I will _not_ go into battle with a demon when there are people behind me I don't trust. Clear?" The look in her eyes was cold, hard and uncompromising. Sam suddenly realised that the woman was a professional hunter and soldier. She was more than capable, and easily the match of both him and Dean. The similarities between Cath Miller and his father were uncanny. Sam finally backed down.

"OK. Deal."

"And I can trust you?"

Sam matched her stare. "That's never been an issue, Cath."

Cath smiled, a genuinely warm smile. "That's all I wanted to hear." She winked at Sam and silently padded to the door. Holding a finger up to her lip conspiratorially, she suddenly wrenched the door open and Dean practically tumbled into the room. Sam couldn't help himself and burst out laughing.

"Oh dude, you are _so_ busted!"

Dean had the good grace to look embarrassed. He grinned at Cath. "So. Are we all good in here?"

"Well, we're not exactly having a hippie love-in, but yeah, I reckon we've sorted out a few things, don't you, Sam?"

Sam stood up and nodded. "Yeah. We're good. Dean? I'm sorry I flipped out on you."

Dean stared hard at his brother and his face split into a grin. "We don't have to hug or anything here, do we? Because, you know, um, that would be awkward…"

Dawn was breaking as Cath stepped outside onto the porch of the motel room. She leaned on the railing and watched the sun appear over the horizon, her mind turning over the details of the night's events. She turned as soft footsteps caught her attention. Dean smiled at her and leaned on the railings next to the woman. "You OK, Cath?"

Cath smiled back at him. "Yeah. Just a bit tired, I guess." She stared back at the sunrise, watching the golden disc inch its way further into the sky.

"So what now?"

"Well, we know the name of the coven. We know that they're behind all the shit that's been flying about. Last reported death was that kid that smashed into the levee and the poor bastard coppers that were chasing him. Perhaps we'd better start there."

"OK. What about Mamma Deveau?"

"She's safe, Dean. Some of my people are keeping an eye on her."

"Yeah, ya know? I've been meaning to talk to you about this '_my people'_ bit…"

Cath looked at him, her face serious. "Not now, sweetie, OK? That can wait."

Dean's face was equally serious. "Look Cath. You asked if you could trust my brother. It cuts both ways, you know. You're holding out on me, I know you are. You want me to trust you, you gotta give me something here."

"You ain't gonna let this go, are you?"

Dean grinned. "Nope!"

Cath sighed. "OK. I'm NSA."

Dean's eyes widened in surprise. "You're a _Fed_?"

"Don't be daft, Dean! I outrank those stupid bastards and then some! Look. You think that you're the only ones who hunt the Supernatural? You think that the military and the government don't know about this shit? Christ, Dean, they've been doing this for years! The only differences between you and me is that I get paid to do this crap and my ID is real, unlike your bloody 'Bikini Inspector' pieces of cardboard!"

"You _do_ know I'm wanted by the FBI, don't you?"

"Of course I do." She grinned at him. "You wouldn't _believe_ the file those buggers have on you, old son!" Her expression became serious. "After all this is over, and _if_ we get out of this alive, I'll have to see what I can do about that for you."

"You'd do that for me?"

Cath shrugged. "I can't promise anything. But I'll talk to a few people, OK?" She pushed herself back from the railings and stretched. "Right then, my little fugitive. Let's go take a look-see at that levee, shall we?"

The Impala and the big Land Rover growled to a stop next to the levee. Shreds of police tape still fluttered in the breeze, and a single bunch of flowers marked the spot where Bobby Crane had smashed into the wall and died so horribly two nights before. Sam bent down and read the card. "I'll miss you so very much. Beverly." He picked the card up and turned it over. The name and address of the florists was printed on the back of the card. "Hey, Dean! I may have something here." Dean strolled over to his brother and read the card.

"Beverly? Beverly who?"

"The florist will know. It's a long shot, but worth a try."

Dean nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. He glanced over at Cath. "Can't see anything else here, Cath."

Cath was crouched down beside the bunch of flowers. "Interesting choice of blooms, don't you think?"

"What?"

Cath picked out a spray of yellow flowers and held it up. "This is used in ritual to protect against demons." She pulled out another spray, this time white and powerfully scented. "And these. Seeing a pattern here, boys?" She stood up, studying the flowers. "I think your hunch was right, Sam. I think we need to find this Beverly and have a little chat… What the fuck?" Cath, Dean and Sam glanced down. Brown water was swirling around their feet, filthy and stinking of rotting flesh and raw sewerage. Dean tried to step back onto a dry area of the road, but his feet seemed to be held there, as if some invisible force were stopping him from moving. The water rose rapidly, and then the hiss of voices started…_Why won't you help us? PLEASE HELP US! HELP US!_ The water swirled around their legs, rising up more quickly than was natural.

"OK, this is _not_ good…" Cath tried to move her feet, straining against the force that had an unbreakable grip on them. Sam felt a hand grip his ankle and he tried to kick against it, but he too was stuck fast. The water was up to their knees, and the sensation of hands grabbing at them in the depths of the filthy liquid unnerved them all.

"Seriously, guys, this is _really_ not good…"

"Ya think?!" Dean reached into the depths, trying to pull the hands that were gripping onto him loose. Suddenly he felt a powerful hand grab his wrist and pull him forward, dragging him under the by-now chest high flood. He felt another hand grab the back of his jacket collar and Sam hauled him back into the air. He gasped in surprise, the mud and slime hanging from his face. The grip on his wrist hadn't eased and he felt himself being pulled under again… Sam fought against the hands that pulled at him whilst trying to keep his brother's head above water, panic beginning to rise in him. He glanced over to Cath and saw that she was fighting the same battle.

A battle against a host that were determined to drown all three hunters in the filthy levee waters…

To be continued… 


	7. Muddy Water Blues

Muddy Water Blues

When the Levees Break – A Supernatural Story Chapter 7

Dean broke the surface of the filthy water again, gasping desperately for air. Sam held on to him, using all his strength to keep both of them up above the rising flood. He could feel the powerful pull of the hands of the dead around his legs and body as they scrabbled and clawed at his clothes, determined to drag both Sam and Dean into a watery grave... The mud and slime clung to his face and clogged his mouth, choking him, making every breath he took taste of death and destruction. He gave one last yell of effort and managed to kick free from the grip of the phantom flood. At the same moment, he felt Dean slipping from his grasp and frantically grabbed out at his brother, hauling him back to the surface. Dean had lost consciousness and for one terrible moment, Sam thought he had succumbed to the floodwater. Dean's limp body floated to the surface, no longer in the grip of those terrible hands and Sam used the last of his strength to drag his brother through the water onto the steps of an abandoned house. He flipped Dean onto his side and hit him hard on the back. Filthy water flooded out of Dean's mouth and his body was wracked with a furious coughing fit as he fought for breath. Sam slumped down next to his brother, exhausted from the effort of saving them both from the floodwaters.

"Jesus, I HATE this damn place!" Dean hauled himself up onto his knees, spitting the last of the mud and water from his mouth. He suddenly looked at his brother. "Cath!" He staggered up onto his feet, his eyes scanning desperately for any sign of the woman. "Oh no…" The flood water had vanished as quickly as it had appeared and lying in the middle of the grass that bordered the levee wall was the still form of the Englishwoman. Dean started to run towards her, Sam only a couple of steps behind him. "Shit! Shit, shit SHIT!" Dean skidded to a stop beside the body of the woman. She lay face down in the mud, her red hair matted with weeds and slime. She wasn't breathing. Dean flipped her over onto her back and frantically started trying to resuscitate her. Sam dropped to his knees next to his brother, concern etched into his face. Suddenly, water poured from Cath's mouth and she gasped for air. Dean rolled her on to her side to stop the water from flooding back into her lungs as she coughed up the last of the levee water. Dean cradled the woman's head in his arms, pushing back the red hair from her face. Slowly, her eyes opened and Dean smiled down at her.

"Whoa, babes. You gave me quite a scare there." A faint smile flickered across Cath's lips.

"Damn. That was just _nasty_!" She struggled up into a sitting position, Dean still supporting her, his arms wrapped protectively around her. She glanced at Sam. "You OK, Sam?" Sam nodded. She glanced back at Dean. "You OK, sweetie?"

He grinned at her. "Oh, fine, babes. I smell like a goddamn toilet and I think I have a fish in my ear, but we're all alive, so hey! The day's looking up!" Cath laughed and patted his arm.

"Yeah, you know? I think a damn good hot shower is in order before we do anything else. Because, seriously? Dean, you _do_ smell like a toilet!" Dean laughed and playfully batted her across the back of the head. But Sam also noticed how he still held on to her, still had his arms wrapped protectively around the woman. Cath breathed deeply and ran a hand through her matted hair. "Christ, that was a close call. Well, I guess we know first-hand what killed Mary and those others now, don't we?" Sam nodded.

"There's some powerful magic going on here, Cath. I mean, to be able to do something like that…"

"It takes more than some blonde wrinklin' her nose to do this, Sammy. This smacks of voodoo." Dean shuddered. "I _hate_ that shit, man!"

………………….

The brothers had showered, changed and were checking and re-checking their weapons when Cath knocked. Dean opened the door and grinned at the woman. "Have we got some news for you, babes!" Cath grinned back at him.

"That sounds promising. Watch'ya got?" Sam held out a small square of card to the woman and Cath could see the writing on the back. The ink had run in the floodwater, but the outline of the message was still just visible. It was the card that had been left with the flowers by the levee wall. Cath took the sodden card from Sam and studied it.

"I checked out that florist's card and the shop is about three miles from here. The flowers were ordered by a Beverly Crane." Sam spun the laptop around and showed the website to Cath. Katrina's flowers. Ironic…

"Crane? Isn't that the surname of the kid who decided to drive into the levee?"

Sam nodded. "His sister."

Cath glanced at Sam. "Hmm. A sister who seems to have an extensive knowledge of plants used for ritual purposes. Got an address on her?"

"Yep."

"Then it may be a good time for you and Dean to go have a chat with her."

"And you?"

Cath smiled. Oh, I have a few little bits of business to sort out. To be honest with you, Sam, I'm not really in the mood for being nice. I've been half drowned by a phantom flood filled with nasty, grabby hands, I've been attacked by a second-rate demon more times than I'd care to remember and _now,_ to add insult to injury, some son of a bitch has scratched my Land Rover, so frankly, I'm just about niced out." She tossed the card onto the table. "Call me when you have something." She turned and walked out of the door. Sam stared at his brother.

"Someone scratched her truck?"

Dean winced. "Dude, don't call it a truck. Seriously. She's kinda funny about that Land Rover."

Sam grinned at his brother. "What, like you are about the Impala?"

"That is _so _not the same!"

"Really?"

"You want me to slap you again, Sammy?"

Sam said nothing. He just laughed. Dean glowered at his brother, but inside he was relieved to know that their relationship was back on track. The fight they had had the previous night had hurt him deeply. He was also glad to see that Sam seemed to accept Cath's presence a little more now. Finally, they had a lead to follow up. And this time he was going to make damn sure that nothing happened to either of them…

…………………………

Cath rolled the Land Rover to a stop at the side of the track and killed the engine. She sat motionless, staring out of the windscreen at the expanse of devastation that still hadn't been cleared two years after the hurricane had smashed through the city. Jesus. These people had just been abandoned to their fate. Left to rot like so much garbage in the streets. No wonder there was such an all-enveloping sensation of rage and anger here. The streets were deserted, except for a couple of mangy looking black dogs scavenging in the refuse, looking for something to keep them alive for one more day. The dogs had heard the Land Rover pull up and their attention shifted. Two pairs of feral eyes focused on the big car, and they started to trot towards it. Cath studied the dogs as they loped towards her. She could sense the determination in them, the hunger, the desperate struggle to survive at any cost. These were once loving, family pets. Now, they had just been abandoned to their basic instinct to survive. They had reverted back to their true nature. Killers. They would be dangerous. Cath checked her Browning.

Even though she was expecting it, the frenzied snarling and barking as the first dog jumped up against the door made her jump. "Son of a bitch!" The dog was going crazy. Flecks of foam sprayed from its jaws as it barked and savaged the handle of the Land Rover. Its claws scrabbled at the window, scratching the toughened glass. A bang snapped Cath's attention to the front of the car. The second dog now stood, foursquare, on the hood, a low, threatening growl coming from its throat. Cath could see the razor-sharp teeth and the eyes… "Crap…" The eyes should have been a soft brown. They _should_ have been…These eyes burned – burned with a hatred so intense that she knew the dogs had crossed over into madness. But there was something else. Something behind the madness that made her blood run cold. These dogs _did_ have a master. But it was not a master you would meet taking these little puppies for a walk in the park or at an obedience class. They were _his_ dogs now. Cath scowled at the dog. "Get the FUCK off my car, you overgrown Yorkie!"

"I thought you liked dogs, Cath." Cath spun around in her seat, the Browning already cocked and ready. The man sitting in the passenger seat turned his head and smiled slowly. He knew that the gun was useless against him. So did Cath. She lowered the gun. She knew she was trapped. But she had set the meeting up in the first place. She knew what to expect from this bastard. It was all part of the show…

"You know damn well I can't stand dogs. Always preferred cats, personally." She nodded at the snarling dog on the hood. "So who do I send the bill for the paint-job to?"

The man laughed, his yellow eyes filled with amusement. "You know, that's one of the things I've always liked about you, Cathy. Your sense of irony!"

"I'm English, you pratt. What do you expect?"

Again, he laughed. "Oh, Cathy! My little warrior!" He shifted himself in the seat, one arm stretching across the headrests, and smiled at the woman. "Now. You called me?"

Cath took a deep breath. She hated dealing with the demon, but she knew that he was as concerned about the past weeks' events as she was. She also knew that, however distasteful, it was probably going to be the only chance to keep herself and the Winchester brothers alive. And possibly gain a small advantage as well. "This little problem we have." The demon nodded. "Whose side are you on?"

"My own."

"Bollocks. I know damn well that things down your way are not exactly going to plan."

"You don't know the half of it, Cathy."

"OK, you call me that one more time, and…"

"And you'll what, exactly?" The smile vanished. Cath felt a wave of pain wash through her and she gripped the steering wheel in agony. The demon stroked her hair gently, enjoying the pain he was causing his mortal enemy. "Now, enough of this, my dear. Let me explain a couple of things, shall I? And I suggest you listen carefully, Colonel, unless you want to become my little hellhounds' next meal. You are only alive because I wish it. You and Dean. Personally, I would happily kill both of you, but there are those who see a use for both of you. So, I have to concede to their wishes. But know this. After all this is over, it all goes back to the way it was before, understand? Cathy, I _will_ kill you. And Dean. And all the others of your kind. But now, your purpose in protecting Sam is more important. There is a war going on in Hell, Cathy. A war that threatens to destroy my realm and spill over into yours. And there are those in your realm that are helping my enemies." The demon shrugged. "What's the old saying? My enemy's enemy is my friend?" He laughed again. "We make unlikely allies, don't you think?" He looked at the raging dog. "Such a little sweetie, isn't he?" His attention shifted back to Cath. "The coven must be stopped, Cathy."

"Why don't you do it yourself?"

"Because they have the help of one who is more powerful than me. They've made damn sure that any of my kind cannot interfere in their 'business'. You, however, are mortal." There was that sickening smile again. "And I know how much you _love_ to interfere in people's lives, Cathy. So here's the deal. You destroy the coven. And I let you live. For now."

"You have got to be kidding me."

"You want something else, Colonel?"

It was Cath's turn to smile. "Oh, yes. What's that expression you use? Something to _sweeten the pot?_ I agree to deal with this coven and whatever nasty bastard they're working with, and you give me the Colt back. _With_ ammo."

"Not an option."

Cath turned the key of the Land Rover and the engine growled into life. The dogs went crazy at the sound of the motor, the beast standing on the hood now snarling and barking furiously. "Then this conversation is over, arsehole." The engine spluttered and died.

"The conversation is over when _I _say it's over, Colonel!" There was just the tiniest hint of uncertainty in the voice of the demon. Cath picked up on it straight away. She turned to face him, a lazy smile on her face.

"Well, well, well! Do I detect a trace of worry in your voice there, mister oh-so-powerful? Things not going according to plan, are they?" The smile vanished. "You deal with me, demon, you know there are gonna be consequences. And if I'm going in after something that's more powerful than _you,_ then I want some kind of guarantee. Like a weapon that actually works on your kind. I ain't gonna go in there and poke the damn thing with a stick!"

"You have your swords."

"I have a feeling the Colt would be more, um, how shall I put this, _direct?"_ Her face was hard, uncompromising. The demon sighed and then smiled.

"OK, then Cathy, deal." He glanced at the dogs, who stopped their snarling, turned and trotted off into the wreckage of the neighbourhood. Cath winced as the claws of the dog that had been standing on the hood scraped at the paint on its way down. "You drive a hard bargain, Colonel. It's no wonder you have the reputation you do." The yellow eyes focused on her one more time and she felt the sheer evil radiating from them. "But remember this, my little warrior. Once all this is over, all bets are off. I _will _come after you _and_ Dean. _And_ the others. You are only alive because it serves my purpose. Once that is fulfilled, I will have both of you." He leaned in close, his voice barely a whisper. "And you will both feel my wrath, Colonel." The demon vanished and lying on the passenger seat of the Land Rover was the Colt. Cath picked up the heavy gun and checked the chambers. Every one housed a bullet. On the base of each bullet was a pentangle. The demon was as good as his word. Cath laughed long and loud.

"Feel my wrath? Jesus, what are you, numb-nut? The dreaded demon of clichés?"

……………………..

Dean leaned on the roof of the car. "You sure this is the right address?"

Sam checked the slip of paper again and nodded. "Positive."

"Because the last time you took us to an address you were _positive_ about, it kinda didn't pan out too well."

"Dean, this _is_ the right address!"

Dean looked again at the house. The perfectly manicured garden led up to a huge mansion, its white paintwork gleaming in the sun. It looked like something out of 'Gone with the Wind'. Dean shook his head. "This just feels weird, Sammy. I mean, these people are _loaded_! What the hell would her kid brother be doin' boosting cars?"

Sam shrugged. " I don't know. Perhaps he was trying to prove himself? You know? Rebel against his upbringing?"

Dean grinned. "What, you mean like you did?" He saw the hurt look on his brother's face and instantly regretted the comment. He held his hands up. "Dude, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

Sam ignored the apology and walked around to his brother. Dean tensed. The look on his brother's face was the same as it had been a couple of nights ago. Sam stared silently at Dean, trying to control his anger. "We got a job to do, Dean. Let's focus on that, shall we?" He turned and started to walk up the gravel pathway. Dean shook his head and followed his brother.

Sam pressed the doorbell. Somewhere inside, melodious chimes sounded, followed by the echoing tapping of feet. A maid in a crisp white apron and bonnet opened the door. "Can I help you?"

Sam gave her a warm smile. "Hi, is Beverly Crane available, please?"

"Miss Beverly is not receiving visitors."

Dean stepped forward, a cold look in his eyes. Nice cop, nasty cop time… "Ma'am, I don't think my partner made himself clear." He flipped open his wallet. "FBI. Is Miss Crane available _now_?" The demeanour of the woman changed and she held the door open.

"Please, come in." The two brothers walked into a hallway that was the size of most people's homes. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, the breeze making the crystals tinkle like bells. "I'll just see if Miss Beverly is available." The maid hurried off, leaving the brothers alone. Dean let out a low whistle. "Whoa. How the other half live, aih?" Sam spun around, his eyes dark.

"What the hell did you pull that FBI crap for, Dean?"

"Nice wasn't getting us anywhere, bro."

"So how do we explain why the FBI are interested in her brother's death, exactly?"

"I don't know! I was winging it, OK?"

"Yeah? Good call, Dean!" Dean looked puzzled.

"Dude, what is _with_ you?"

"Can I help you?" The voice was melodious and clear. Beverly was stunning, crystal clear blue eyes and almost white blonde hair tumbling in ringlets down her back. It was all Dean could do to stop himself from grinning like an idiot at the woman, but he flipped open his wallet again and flashed his fake ID.

"I hope you can, ma'am. We'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Why are the FBI interested in my brother's death?"

Sam smiled. "We have to investigate any death that involves police officers, ma'am. And twelve other people died that night. Not just your brother. Although I am sorry for your loss." The woman looked like she was about to burst into tears, but managed to compose herself.

"Then you'd better come in." She turned to the maid. "Martha, could we have some coffee please for these gentlemen?" The maid bobbed and hurried off. Beverly led the brothers into an opulent sitting room crammed full of antiques and expensive looking furniture. "Please, sit down." Dean and Sam sat awkwardly on the brocade sofa as the maid bustled in with a tray of cups and a pot of coffee. The cups were finest bone china. Beverly waited until Martha had left and poured out the coffee. "So. You wanted to ask me some questions."

Sam picked up the cup and saucer and took a sip of coffee. "Perhaps you could tell us what your brother was doing in that stolen car, Miss Crane?"

"Bobby was always a bit wild. He could have had any car he wanted, but he just seemed to want to play at being some kind of bad boy, you know? Daddy had threatened to send him to military camp if he got into trouble again, but Bobby never took him seriously. Now…" Her eyes filled with tears. She ripped a tissue from a box on the coffee table and dabbed at her eyes. Sam looked sympathetically at the girl. She was obviously grieving for her brother. Dean, however, was running an expert eye around the room. Something didn't seem right…

He stood up and walked over to a painting. "You and Bobby?"

Beverly nodded. "Daddy had it painted for Bobby's eighteenth birthday. Bobby always hated it."

Dean studied the painting closely, his eye drawn to the image of a pendent around Beverly's neck. "That's an interesting necklace, Beverly. What is it?"

Beverly glanced up at Dean, her eyes hardening. "It's just a necklace, Agent…?"

"Gibbs. Special Agent Gibbs."

"Special Agent Gibbs. Why are you so interested?"

"Oh, it's a bit of a hobby of mine. Occult imagery." Dean grinned darkly. "I've worked on a few, how can I put this, _strange_ cases over the past couple of years. Did you know this is a Zoroastrian symbol?"

Beverly visibly stiffened. "No. I didn't. Now I think if you have any more questions, you should really talk to my father. He'll be back from the courthouse very soon. Perhaps you would like to make an appointment." She stood up and rang a bell. As if by magic, Martha appeared. "Show these _gentlemen_ out, Martha." Beverly turned and walked stiffly out of the room. Martha followed the woman with her eyes and then turned to the brothers. Sam looked puzzled. The maid looked scared. What was she scared of?

"If you please, gentlemen?" Martha motioned towards the door and the two brothers walked out into the hallway. As they stepped through the door, Martha laid a hand on Dean's arm.

"What do you know about that symbol, Agent Gibbs?"

Dean grinned. "Listening at the keyhole, were you, Martha?"

"I'm serious! What do you know?" Dean could see the look of fear and urgency on the woman's face.

"Martha, the question is, what do _you _know?"

"I know you ain't FBI, buster! And I know you saw them symbols. Bad things bin happenin' in this house. Real bad things. That boy's death weren't no accident. He was frit to death. You wanna know what's goin' on here? You talk to Rory Bates. He'll tell you." The door slammed in Dean's face before he had the chance to ask Martha any more questions. He turned to Sam and raised an eyebrow.

"We got a name."

"Yeah. Who the hell is Rory Bates?" The brothers walked back to the Impala.

"Did you notice all the occult imagery in that room? Very subtle, but it was all there. Even the layout of the furniture. Clever. Very clever."

Sam pulled the door of the Impala open. "I think we may be getting close to the coven here, Dean. Martha was scared. She knows a lot more than she was letting on."

Dean nodded. "Let's get back and see what Cath's come up with."

From the window, Beverly watched the two men climb into an Impala and drive off. Definitely not feds. She cradled the phone in one hand, the other moving the curtain as she watched the car drive down the road. "No, I'm sure it was them. Though we may have a problem with Martha." Beverly stared at the door, her eyes changing from their normal piercing blue to a souless black. She smiled lazily. "Nono, nothing I can't deal with…"

………………………….

"I don't care, Dean, I think you're wrong. We try breaking into that place, we're gonna set every alarm in the local police station ringing within a second. The man is a High Court judge, for Christ's sake!" Sam pushed the key into the lock of the motel room door and turned the handle.

"Dude, we've broken into government facilities before now, why you so scared of a little house-breaking?"

"Because it's NOT a _little_ house, Dean! It's the house of a…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. A High Court judge." He grinned. "Look on it as a challenge!" The brothers walked into the room and flicked on the light. Cath sat in a chair, one long leg draped over the arm, a beer in her hand.

"JESUS!"

"Evenin' boys!" She grinned and raised the beer bottle in salute.

"Christ, Cath, you scared the hell outta me!" Dean grinned at her and deftly caught the bottle she threw to him. He spun the cap off and saluted her back. Sam threw his jacket across the bed and graciously accepted a second bottle. "So. Had a good day, hun?"

Cath winked at Dean. "Oh, ya know. Up and down. But I brought you a little pressie." She pulled the Colt out of her belt and held it up. "Recognise this?"

Sam stood up and walked over to her, a look of disbelief on his face. Dean slowly put his beer down on the table, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Sam took the Colt from Cath and studied it.

"Where the _hell_ did you get this?"

"Thought we might need a bit of an ace in the hole."

Sam's eyes flashed dangerously. "_Where did you get it, Cath?"_ He stood over the woman, the Colt suddenly pointing straight at her. He cocked the gun.

Dean started forward. "Whoa! Sammy, hold on there…"

Sam edged the barrel closer, aiming it straight between Cath's eyes. "Where did you get the goddamn GUN, Cath?"

_**To be continued…**_


	8. Nobody's Fault but Mine

Nobody's fault but mine

When the Levees Break – Chapter 8

Dean positioned himself slowly and very carefully between his brother and Cath. The snout of the Colt was now pointing directly at his heart. "Get out of the way, Dean." Sam's voice had a cold and dangerous edge to it. Dean had heard that edge in his brother's voice before…

"Sam, put the gun down, for Christ's sake!"

"I said _move,_ Dean!"

Dean didn't move. "Put the gun down, Sammy."

"Why are you so quick to defend her, Dean? I mean, really? Tell me! Don't you think it's kinda strange her turning up here with _this_ gun? The same gun that Dad gave up in exchange for your life?"

"Sammy, don't…"

"NO! You listen to me, Dean! That yellow-eyed bastard nearly killed all of us to get his hands on it, you think he'd give it to her just because she _asked him nicely_? I don't buy it. And I don't understand why you do."

"You wanna give me a chance to explain things here, Sam?" Cath's voice was level, emotionless. Dean heard the clink of Cath's Zippo behind him and smelt the pungent scent of cigarette smoke. In front of him, Sam still held the Colt, his eyes locked with his brothers'. He looked scared, even though he was in control. The muzzle of the Colt shook ever so slightly. Dean knew that he was in a deadly situation, but he had to try and calm his brother down enough to let Cath give them an explanation. Deep down, Dean was dreading that explanation. Because if it wasn't good enough, Cath was going to die tonight. But not by Sammy's hand. Dean knew that, if he had to, he'd kill her himself to protect Sam. He pleaded one more time with his brother.

"Sam, please, I'm begging you. Hear her out. If it don't add up, then…" The look passed between the two brothers. No words were needed. Sam knew that his brother would always side with him, no matter what. But still that streak of defiance held out.

"Why should I, Dean? Why should I listen to her?"

"Because, you numb-nut, if I _was_ a bloody demon, do you honestly think I would so willingly hand you the one gun that could actually _kill_ me?" Cath's voice was filled with frustration. She was tired, angry and sick to the back teeth of the whole situation. It was spiralling out of control… She could feel the anger boiling up inside her – that black, uncontrollable anger that haunted all of her kind… She stood up angrily and pushed Dean to one side. Sam took a step back and the snout of the Colt swung around. Cath glared at Sam. "You know, for such a smart kid, you can't half be a dumb son of a bitch sometimes, Sam Winchester! Jesus, if you were holding my Browning, you'd still be able to kill me!" She ripped the Browning from her belt and tossed it to Sam, who caught it with his left hand. He stared at the Browning. "G'on, Sam, pick a gun! Any gun!" Cath spread her arms out, her fingers splayed in a gesture of submission. If you really, _honestly_ think that I'm a demon, use the Colt. It's got six bullets in it. Any one of them'll work!" Her voice was sharp and angry. "Frankly, Sam, you'd be doin' me a favour, because you know what? I'm _tired_ of all this, son. Tired of having to bust my arse killing things that most people hope to _God_ don't exist! Tired of seeing people I care about die! Tired of having to justify every damn move I make to people who think they know so much better than me because they don't _trust_ me enough to _goddamn listen_!"

Dean could hear the rising fury in her voice. He knew that fury well. That deep, black anger, boiling up from the pit of her soul, the memories of all the horror she had seen… Could Sam hear it? Did he realise just how vulnerable Cath was at this moment? He looked at the woman. Her eyes were rimmed with tears – tears of anger and utter pain.

Cath's arms dropped to her side. She looked utterly defeated, yet… The piercing green eyes were dark, dangerous. Dean could see the black anger there. "You think you can win this war alone, Sam? You and Dean? Do you have _any_ idea what we're up against? What would happen if we let this battle spill out into our world? Thousands will die, Sam. Thousands." Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. "Please, Sam, I'm begging you. I'm _not_ your enemy. I'm not your brother's enemy. I'm here to help him protect you. And if that means dealing with the demon, the same demon that tore my family apart, killed every damn one of them, then, so be it. This is beyond personal, Sam. We _have_ to win. We _have_ to. Because if we don't, Sam, then everyone we've ever cared about, everyone we've ever loved, will die. You understand? You understand that, Sam?"

A single tear ran down her cheek.

Sam slowly lowered the gun. He stared at the woman, the woman he thought was an unfeeling, ice-cold killer. She looked so vulnerable. So alone… He held the Browning out to her. "I'm sorry, Cath…"

Cath looked at the Browning. She turned and slumped back down into the chair, her hand covering her face. Dean slowly took the Browning from Sam's hand, his eyes filled with concern. He placed the Browning on the table and turned away, his hand running through his hair. He leaned against the window frame, unsure as to what to say, what to do. Sam stood silently in the middle of the room, the Colt hanging loosely from his hand, the hammer eased back into the safety position. Silence filled the room…

………………….

Martha sat in the kitchen, a mug of coffee steaming on the table beside her. Her nightly routine was always the same. Once the daily chores were complete, and Miss Beverly had no further need for her, she retired to the kitchen for a mug of coffee and a chance to read a few pages of the Bible. The rest of the house was sleeping, quiet as the grave. The kitchen was warm, safe, comforting. Without looking, she reached out for the mug, her attention still on her Bible. It had been her mother's – she had fond memories of sitting with her mother of an evening, reading the words that offered her a link to happy memories. Her fingers reached out for the mug, but touched only empty air. She glanced up from the book, puzzled for a second. The mug had vanished. Martha laid the book down, her senses prickling. Something was wrong…

The boiling coffee hit her full in the face and she screamed in pain. Her hands flew up to her face, and she cried again in agony.

"You betrayed me, you little BITCH!" The blow caught Martha on the cheek and she and the chair fell backwards. Martha scrabbled blindly to get away from whatever was attacking her. "Betrayed my trust! Did I not treat you well, Martha? Did I?" Martha's burnt eyes were blurred with tears of pain, but she could just about make out the figure in front of her. Dressed in a flowing white night-gown, Beverly stood before her, her blonde hair wild, her normally bright blue eyes black as the pits of hell. The light caught the edge of the razor-sharp cleaver that hung loosely in her hand. Martha couldn't take her eyes off that cleaver…

"Please! Miss Beverly! I don't understand…"

"Don't understand? You think I don't know? How you tried to warn them? How you tried to tell them our _secrets_?" the cleaver swooped down towards the cowering woman and she raised her arm to try to stop the blow. Martha screamed out in agony as the vicious edge bit into the skin of her arm. She felt the warm, sticky blood pour from the cut. The cleaver flashed back up, this time the blood staining the shining steel a deep red. It sliced down again, and Martha felt it bite into her arm again. She desperately pushed herself away from the woman, but felt her back hit the door of a cupboard. She was cornered. There was nowhere else to go…

Beverly stalked towards her, blood splatters staining the virginal white gown. She smiled, a slow, lazy, utterly chilling smile. "Betrayal. I cannot have betrayal, Martha. Your mother was the same. Thought she could betray my family, thought she could protect herself with her voodoo charms and pathetic pleading for mercy in the name of _God!_" The cleaver slashed down again. Beverly laughed. "So? Martha? You gonna call on God now to protect you?" Again, the cleaver screamed through the air, slicing into Martha's abdomen. "Where is he, Martha? Where are his angels come to protect you?" Martha felt the blade slice into her again and again, her blood spraying the cabinets and floor in a sticky arc. Beverly crouched down in front of the dying woman, her eyes boring into Martha's pain-filled brown orbs. In her other hand she held Martha's Bible. She casually tossed it into the woman's lap and watched with mild interest as the blood soaked into the pages. Martha looked at the Bible, the symbol of her past happiness, now drenched in her own life-blood. With her last ounce of strength, she raised her head and looked at the vision of Hell that crouched in front of her. Beverly pulled out a small leather bag from the pocket of her night-dress and pulled open the cord. She looked again at the blood-soaked woman, listening to her last gasping breaths and smiled again. "Oh, and don't think that your oh-so pious bible study sessions will save you from going to Hell, child. You knew all along what happened in this house. You _knew_. And you did nothing. Complicity is a sin, Martha, and you're going _down_ for it!" She threw the contents of the pouch into the woman's face. A cloud of black dust enveloped the woman. She knew what it was. Grave Dust. The dirt from an unconsecrated grave. Voodoo magic. A sure-fire trip to Hell… The cleaver slashed down one last time, cutting deep into the neck of the woman. Beverly watched the light in Martha's eyes go out as the woman's lifeless body slumped to the floor. Still she watched, fascinated by the changing shape of the pool of blood that spread out from the final wound. She dipped her fingers in the blood, swirling an intricate pattern into the sticky liquid. A rushing, roaring sound filled the room, as if a wall of water was approaching. Beverly stood up, her eyes never leaving the mutilated body of her maid. A sudden, wild wind blew her blonde hair back from her face and she threw her head back, her arms wide in salutation. Her blood-soaked night-dress whipped about her body, the cloth clinging to her. She closed her eyes and let the hellish wind scream around her.

As quickly as it had appeared, the maelstrom was gone. Beverly opened her eyes and looked around the kitchen. Every single sign of the slaughter was gone. The body of Martha had disappeared. The bloodstains that had splattered the paintwork had vanished. The cleaver in her hand looked as if it had never been used. And the angry red stains that had soaked her night-dress were mere memories. Beverly smiled, put the cleaver back in its rightful place and went back to her bedroom.

Underneath a cabinet, a blood soaked Bible lay, it's pages fluttering briefly in the breeze…

………………..

Sam sat on the bed, the Colt resting in his hands. He stared at the gun. Opposite him, Dean sat, his hands clenched. He studied his brother. The look of confusion on Sam's face concerned Dean deeply. "Sammy? You OK?"

Sam looked up and a brief smile flashed across his face. "Guess I misread that situation, didn't I?"

Dean grinned at him, but the smile didn't go as far as his eyes. "Yeah, guess you did, Sammy. But hey, listen. I don't blame you, I was kinda freaked out myself back there." He stood up and walked to the coffee machine and poured out two hot mugs of Java. He held one out to his brother. Sam took it gratefully. Anything to try to take his attention off of what had just happened. Dean took a mouthful of coffee and picked the Colt out of Sam's hand. "Look. I don't know what kind of deal went down between the demon and Cath to get this, but we have it now. And it's the one thing that could keep us all alive here, so let's not look a gift horse in the mouth, yeah?"

Sam nodded. "I get it, Dean. It's bigger than personal. That's what she said. I just can't understand how she could do it. I mean, deal with something that had slaughtered her entire family? I just don't understand how she could."

"Sam, she's a soldier. She sees the bigger picture here. But I promise you, once this is all over, she'll go after that bastard again. Same as we will."

"So what, we're working for the demon now? Is that what you're saying?"

Dean glared at his brother. "Hell no! We just, kinda, share a common interest, that's all. Trust me, bro. The demon would NOT have made this deal if it didn't suit his purpose. What we have to do is make sure that the son of a bitch regrets ever laying eyes on any of us, OK? Once all this is done with, we make damn sure that the Colt has at least one bullet left in it with his goddamn name on it." He ran his hand through his hair and breathed deeply. "Look, we need some sleep. Then I think we'd better try and find this damn coven and put a stop to its activities. My guess is that house holds some of the answers. Besides, I'd like to try and talk to Martha. She knows a hell of a lot more than she's letting on."

"What about Cath?"

"She has her own agenda, Sam. But I think it's best if we just leave her alone for a little while. You saw the look in her eyes, man. I've seen that look before. She's dangerous at the moment. And last time, that meant she was dangerous for anyone who got in her way, including other hunters. Just leave well alone until she calms down, OK?"

Sam lay back on the bed, his arm covering his eyes. He was desperately tired. The fight with Cath had drained every last ounce of energy he had. Within seconds, he was asleep.

Dean looked at his brother, thankful that he had finally managed to calm him enough to let him sleep. He went back to the coffee machine and poured another mug. Quietly, he opened the door and stepped out into the night air. Leaning against the porch rail was the silent figure of Cath, a forgotten cigarette hanging between her fingers. Dean stood next to the woman.

"Hey." He held the coffee out. She glanced at him and at the offered mug. A brief smile flitted across her face.

"Thanks."

"You OK?"

"Fine. How's Sam?"

"Sleeping. You wanna fill in the gaps for me?"

"Not now, sweetie."

"Not the answer I wanted, Cath."

"Dean…"

"No, hun, you listen for once. You freaked me and Sam out good in there with that little stunt you pulled. Now, I'm confused as hell, here, lady. We spend all our lives looking for the yellow-eyed son of a bitch that killed our families. Now we're striking _deals_ with the bastard? It don't add up, Cath. And that makes me nervous."

"It's the same for demons as it is for us, Dean. No matter how big you think you are, there's always something or someone bigger and nastier than you. The demon knows this too. If it _is _Beelzebub we're dealing with here, then the yellow-eyed demon is the _least_ of our worries. If he gets a foothold here in our realm, we're all royally screwed. He becomes more powerful than you could possibly imagine. And that would affect the balance of things. Our yellow-eyed friend isn't stupid." She turned and Dean could see the concern in her eyes. All trace of the darkness that he had seen earlier was gone. "All these years, we've been fighting to keep a balance between good and evil, a balance that meant that no one side ever had the advantage. All the realms are linked. What happens here affects their realm as well as our own. If one side were to win, to upset the balance, then everything, _everything_ would cease to exist. That's why the yellow-eyed demon wants us to stop this coven. If they manage to let Beelzebub loose here, everything heads south. They don't realise it. Beelzebub thinks that he can defeat one of the basic laws of the universe. He's fighting to win. For whatever reason, he _wants _to see everything destroyed. We have to stop him."

"How the hell do you know all this, Cath?"

"Think, Dean. Haven't _you_ known this all along?"

"Cath, all I know is that I have to protect Sam. No matter what."

"I know. Sam is very special. He's the whole point."

"What do you mean?"

Cath looked at Dean. He had to know. He had to know why he was fighting. And why his promise to keep his younger brother safe was so very important right now… "Because Sam is how the coven plan to get Beelzebub into this realm. He's what is known as a vessel. He's the only one strong enough to be able to survive possession by a major league demon like Mr B."

"Won't happen, Cath. We've got protective charms against possession."

Cath laughed. "You honestly think those trinkets Bobby gave you will give you _any_ form of protection against _him_? No, sweetie. Not a chance. If he manages to get a foothold here, he'll let loose an army that'll smash everything in its path. Minutes after that happens, I promise you, another army will march outta Hell and their private little power struggle will become very much _our_ problem. Dean, it won't matter a damn how many of our kind are on the battlefield then, we won't have a chance. Our only option is to stop the war before it starts."

"What do you mean, our kind?"

"Warriors. Those of us who've been chosen to fight this damn war. Those of us that wear _this_." She held out the amulet that rested around her neck. The same amulet that Dean wore. "Your mother gave you that, didn't she?" Dean nodded. "Same as me. Same as all of us. You think your brother is the only one who's special, love? You think the powers that play this little chess game would let someone like Sam walk alone through this world without a warrior to protect him? Never crossed your mind to wonder _why_ you're such a damn good hunter, Dean? Why all of that shit happens to you? Ever heard of the legend of the Eternal Hero? Or the Journey of the Hero?"

Dean's head was spinning. "No! And honestly? I don't believe any of this crap!"

"How can you not believe in something that you claim not to know about? OK, history lesson, Winchester. Think back. Your whole life, you've been on a journey. A journey that has involved a constant battle against the forces of evil. Every step of that journey has been pre-ordained, Dean. It's an old story. Thousands of men and women have walked the same path you do. Some succeed. Many fail."

"This is crap! I'm no goddamn _hero_! And _I_ chose my life, OK? Me! Not some unknowable bullshit figure of a god!" Dean felt the rising panic in the pit of his stomach. He controlled his life! Nobody else!

"It's not crap, Dean. It's real. It's not a path I wanted to walk, either. But we have no choice. I'm sorry, love. I really am." She smiled sadly. "You and me? I don't think we'll ever have the chance of a normal life, sweetie. This is it. This is our destiny. Sucks, don't it?"

"No, Cath. It may be your destiny, but it ain't mine! We're gonna stop this shit, we're gonna win, and then I'm going after that yellow-eyed bastard and kill him. And then? You know what I'm gonna do then? I'm gonna find a nice quiet town, find a nice girl and live my life! No more demons, no more hunting and no more you!" Dean hurled the cup into the darkness and glared at the woman. "You carry on hunting demons, lady. It's what you do best. You know something? I pity you, I really do. If you can't see that this is _not_ all there is, if you can't wish for a normal life, then really, I feel sorry for you."

"Could you honestly go back to a nice, safe, suburban life, knowing what you know, Dean? Could you?"

"Shut the FUCK up, Cath!" Dean pushed past the woman and back into the motel room. He slammed the door and leaned against it, his head in his hands.

Cath stared at the locked door. "Oh god, love, I wish I was wrong, really I do…"

To be continued… 


	9. Black Magick Woman

Black Magick Woman

When the Levees Break – A Supernatural Story Chapter 9

Sam crouched down in front of the French windows, his pick working quickly and expertly at the barrel of the lock. There was the faintest of clicks and he slipped the pick back into his pocket. His hand reached towards the door, but just as he was about to swing the door open, Dean laid a hand on his arm and silently pointed up. Sam glanced up and saw the red dot of the movement sensor. "Dammit!"

"There has to be a fuse box somewhere. If we can disconnect the power, the alarm system should deactivate long enough for us to get in and disarm it from the inside." Dean ran an expert eye over the property. "Wait here." He ran off into the shadows, keeping away from the windows and out of sight of the road. Sam watched his brother disappear into the darkness and turned his attention back to the room beyond the French windows. It was a kitchen – spotlessly clean and tidy. Yet, something was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end – something he couldn't quite put his finger on…

Dean found the main fuse box for the house and flipped down the cover. He stared briefly at the bank of switches, shrugged his shoulders and took out a hunting knife. "Well, here goes nothin'…" He loosened the wires leading into the box and cut through them in one slice. He flipped the lid back up, absent-mindedly wiped it for prints and slipped the knife back into his jacket pocket. Silently, Dean ran back to where he had left Sam. He could see that his brother was staring intently through the window and crept up behind him, grinning. He crouched down behind Sam and leaned in close, so that his mouth was just inches from Sam's ear.

"BOO!"

"Jesus!" Sam sat back hard and swore. "Dammit Dean! Don't you _ever_ do that again!"

Dean grinned happily at his brother. "Aww, c'mon, dude, do you have _any_ idea how long I've wanted to do that for?" Sam looked like he was about to swing for his older brother, and Dean pointed up. "Light's gone out. Shall we?" He grinned again, reached past Sam and pushed the door open. No alarms sounded. Two torches snapped on and the beams of light cut through the darkness of the kitchen. "After you, Francis." Sam glared at Dean and inched carefully into the room. "You'd think a High Court judge would be able to afford a better security system, wouldn't you?" Dean grinned at his brother. "Just think, if you'd stayed in college, twenty years from now, all this could've been yours!"

Sam glared angrily at Dean. He was not really in a joking mood and the jibe had struck a nerve. "Dude, just shut up, would you?" His torch pierced into the darkness of the kitchen. "Besides, you don't get a pad like this doin' pro-bono work, trust me. And I doubt very much if they'd even let me _be_ a High Court judge with a felon for a brother!"

"Hey! Standing right here, you know!"

"My point exactly. Now, shall we do some work here or should we spend the rest of the night debating what is and what should have been?" Sam's senses were screaming. Something was dreadfully wrong…

The two brothers worked their way carefully through the room, the torch beams probing into every corner. "Sam?" Sam spun around, his torch beam hitting Dean straight in the eyes and blinding him. Dean threw his hand up to shield his eyes from the glare. "Dude!"

"Sorry. What is it?"

Dean motioned down and, in the light, Sam could see the blood-splattered pages of an old book. Dean crouched down and carefully extracted the book from under the cabinet. "Dean, that's a bible!"

"You know, Sammy, I _can_ read. Though most bibles I've seen ain't been soaked in blood." He carefully turned the pages of the bible. The book was open at Revelations…

"Hmm. Question is, who's blood is it and why aren't there any signs of a struggle, any blood anywhere else?"

Dean's face was deadly serious as he studied the book. "Best thing we can do is check the rest of the house and then get the hell outta here as quickly as possible. I wanna take another look at that family portrait." He shuddered. "This place is really starting to creep me out."

The two men moved quickly and expertly through the house, ending back in the palatial living room they had visited the day before. Occult symbols filled every inch of the room, carefully hidden from the untrained eye in full view. Sam scanned the ornately carved bookcase and pulled out one that caught his eye. Every volume was old – the signs of use clearly visible on the spines and on the dog-eared corners of the pages. "Dean, they have every occult reference book and grimoire you can think of here, Crowley, Aggripa, The Key of Solomon, you name it, it's here."

"What the hell is a grimoire?"

"It's a book of spells, rituals, that kinda thing. They're also known as Books of Shadows."

Dean stared at his brother. "Man, I worry about you, sometimes." He turned his attention back to the painting, a thoughtful look on his face. "Hey, Sammy."

"What?"

"This chick look familiar to you?"

Sam carefully replaced the volume and turned to look at the painting. "It's a good likeness of her." The painting showed a beautiful, blonde-haired woman, her blue eyes so piercing, they seemed almost alive. Behind the figure sat another, a maid, her face a picture of misery and despair.

"Look closer, Sam." Sam looked closely at the painting, the torch beam picking out the signature and date.

"That's not possible! The date on that painting is 1807. That would make her…"

"Two hundred years old, yeah. I can do the math too. Lookin' good for her age, ain't she?"

Dean frowned and his torch scanned across the painting. "And there's more occult symbols than is normal for your average family portrait, too. As in _way_ too many." He shuddered again. "Goddamn, I _hate_ this shit! Demons I can deal with. Demons you can kill. But this crap? Ugh!"

Sam pulled out his cell-phone and pointed the camera lens at the painting. He took a series of shots, concentrating on the symbols and details of the disturbing image. He slid the phone back into his pocket. "OK, Dean, I've seen enough. Let's get the hell out of here." The click of a door opening upstairs snapped their attention away from the painting and those cold, blue eyes. Dean raised his eyebrows.

"Good idea, bro!" They moved at speed back into the kitchen, Dean grabbing the bible from the table as they moved silently out through the French windows. Dean turned and slipped back into the kitchen.

"Dean! What the hell…"

Dean emerged again, clutching two apples. He tossed one to his brother and grinned. "Peckish."

"Jesus, Dean!"

Sam pushed the glass door closed and the two brothers ran full pelt away from the house. They dived into the Impala and Dean gunned the big V8 into life. He glanced over at his brother. Sam looked shaken. "Sammy? You OK?" 

"That house, Dean. And her! How the hell…"

"Could such a hot chick be two hundred years old? I dunno, maybe a really good moisturiser?" He bit into the apple and grinned, the juice running down his chin.

"Dean, skincare products _don't_ grant immortality, despite what the adverts say, OK? And what about Martha?" 

"What about her?"

"When we spoke to her before, she was scared. Real scared. She seemed to be trying to warn us off." His mind went back to the image of the black maid in the painting. He saw the image clearly in his mind's eye. She had been sat behind the stunning image of Beverly Crane, a bible lying open in her lap. The pages had been open at Revelations…

"To be honest, Sammy, I don't know. We need to talk to her again. And soon."

Sam looked at his brother. "Dude, I have a funny feeling that may be kinda difficult…"

………………………

The hospital room was peaceful. Liza Deveau lay on the bed, her eyes closed. She smiled. "Hello boys. Good to see you again." The soft, brown eyes flickered open and she turned her gaze on Sam and Dean.

Dean smiled broadly, genuine warmth and relief clearly evident on his face. He embraced the woman gently, kissing her softly on the forehead. "Mamma, I thought we'd lost you!" She returned the embrace, wincing in pain but careful to hide that pain from Dean.

"Boy, you _know_ it takes more than one hoochy demon to kill me off! And seriously? You have Cath to thank that I'm still here. Now stop huggin' the life outta me and sit!" She smiled warmly at Sam. "You still in town, chile? Thought the demon made himself clear."

Sam nodded and grinned. "Like you said, Mamma, it takes more than some yellow-eyed son of a bitch to run me out of town!" Mamma Deveau's eyes widened and she smacked a smirking Dean around the back of the head.

"Ow! What the hell was _that _for?"

"That was for not teaching your little brother to keep a clean mouth in his head and _that,_" her hand snaked out again, "is for blaspheming, Dean Winchester!" Dean rubbed the back of his head, a hurt expression on his face. Mamma Deveau glared at a grinning Sam. "Don't know what you smirkin' for boy, only reason I didn't slap you is I couldn't reach that high! Good lord, Dean, what did your papa feed him on? Miracle-Gro?" She patted Dean's arm gently, making him flinch in anticipation of yet another slap. She smiled broadly. "Now. What can I do for you? I _know _you ain't here to check on my health."

Dean grinned. "OK, busted. But we are here to make sure you're OK as well, seriously. Mamma, what do you know about the Crane family? Particularly the daughter, Beverly?

Mamma Deveau looked thoughtful. "The Cranes? Got that big ol' white house up on the ridge?" Dean nodded. "They're an _old_ family, Dean. Made their money in cotton." Her eyes darkened. "That and slaves. One point it was rumoured that old man Crane had over two hundred slaves on his estate. That was way before my time, though. Hundred, two hundred years ago. Had a terrible bad reputation for beating and cruelty, he did. Why you askin' about them, Dean?"

Dean glanced at his brother. "We think they may have been involved in a bit more than just cotton and slaves, Mamma."

"We went to see Beverly Crane a couple of days ago. It was her brother who died driving into the levee wall." Sam paused.

"Soo, seein' as we didn't get the answers we wanted, we went back tonight and took a look around. Only this time we didn't go in through the front door. If you know what I mean." Dean grinned.

"You mean you broke in?" 

"You ain't gonna slap me again, are you?" Dean moved out of range.

"Carry on. But shame on you, Dean Winchester!"

Dean shrugged. "Figured we'd learn a bit more about Scarlet O'Hara and the clan if we didn't have to put up with her Southern Belle routine."

"And did you?" 

Sam nodded. "We thought that you may be able to throw some light on this." Sam handed Mamma Deveau copies of the pictures he had downloaded from his phone camera.

Dean watched Mamma Deveau as she studied the pictures. "The whole house was crammed to the ceiling with all kinds of occult crap, grim, um,,,"

"Grimoires," Sam interjected.

"Yeah, grimoires, voodoo crap, the whole nine yards. But the weirdest thing was this." Dean tapped the picture of Beverly. Sam held out another picture.

"Beverly Crane, taken two weeks ago at a society function."

"Notice the deliberate mistake, Mamma?"

Mamma Deveau was puzzled. "It's the same woman. So? Dean, I ain't in no mood for riddles, boy…"

"Mamma, that painting was done in 1807."

Mamma Deveau's eyes widened. "You serious, chile? Hell, that would make her…"

Dean grinned. "Yeah, two hundred years old. That's the bit we couldn't figure out either. And when I was there the other day, she seemed kinda jumpy when I mentioned the picture, particularly the necklace around her neck in the painting. Got real nervous when I told her it was Zoroastrian."

"I can imagine!"

"There's something else." Sam swallowed. The woman had been through enough already, he felt reluctant to show her the bible. "And it isn't very nice."

"Sam, I bin dealin' with 'Not Very Nice' all my life! Now what is it?"

Sam pulled out the bloodstained bible from his jacket pocket. "We found this. I think it belongs to Martha, Beverly's maid. There was nothing else anywhere, no blood, no body, nothing. Just this." He held the bible out and Mamma Deveau's face filled with sadness.

"Oh, my, that's Martha's bible alright. I knew her mama and her grand-mama. That poor child…" The look of sorrow turned to one of wide-eyed fear and terror as her fingers touched the book. The images crashed into her mind – images of those last, terrible moments of Martha's short life - images of _after_, too… She gasped in shock and snatched her hand away, trying to push herself away from the blood-soaked book. Sam snatched the book back, out of Mamma Deveau's reach. Dean, filled with concern, put himself between Sam and Mamma Deveau and gripped her by the shoulders.

"Mamma! Whoa! It's OK! It's us, Mamma, it's me, Dean! Look at me!" Mamma Deveau stared at Dean, trying to focus back on him. She breathed deeply.

"I…I'm OK, Dean, I'm OK." Dean felt her relax and let go of her shoulders, holding onto one hand gently, reassuringly. "One of my abilities is I can, kinda, _see_ events if I touch an object."

"Psycometry."

Dean glanced at his brother. "What?"

"It's called psycometry, Dean. The theory is that some people can hold an object, like a piece of jewellery, and know about the history of that piece, of the person, of events, just about anything." 

"Ain't no theory, boy, its fact. But yeah, what Sammy said, Dean." Mamma Deveau smiled warmly at the younger brother. "Just never knew the fancy name for it until now."

Dean stared at Sam. "Dude, you have _got_ to spend less time readin; and more time drinkin;, you know that, Library-Boy?"

"Nothin' wrong with an education, Dean. He's quite bright, that kid brother of yours, ain't he?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I'm real proud of him." His expression became serious. "What did you see, Mamma?"

"Evil, Dean. I saw pure evil…"

……………..

Dean pulled the driver's door of the Impala open and slumped down into the seat. Sam climbed into the passenger seat and stared out of the windscreen. Dean took a deep breath. "Well, I guess you were right. We're gonna need a damn Ouija board or Patricia Arquette if we wanna talk to Martha any time soon."

"Dean, we're into unknown territory here, man. Spirits, demons, vampires, OK, we can kill them. But this shit? Magic? How the hell do we deal with this?"

"I'm surprised at you, Sammy. I thought this would be right up your street."

"What, because I actually read a book now and then?"

"Exactly because you read books, dude! This shit comes outta books, so how we fight it, how we beat it, has to come outta, um, _other_ books, right? You know? The ones that _don't_ have 'Raise your own Demon in two easy steps' chapters?"

"Well, yeah, _possibly_, but Dean, do you have _any_ idea how much literature there is on magic? There are whole libraries devoted purely to that single subject. And what kind of magic are we dealing with? Voodoo? High Magic? Demonology? It's gonna be like looking for a very small needle in a very _big_ haystack!"

"OK, so we make the needle bigger and the haystack smaller." 

"What?"

"Look. We know our bicentennial chick is up to her cute little ass in this, right? So? We tail her. See where she leads us. See who she leads us _to_."

"You kidding me, Dean? You heard what Mamma Deveau said! This bitch has had two hundred years to build her powers, and she's not even the High Priestess!"

"We don't know that, Sammy. I mean, that was some pretty heavy imagery in that house. And we know that at least some of it is Zoroastrian. Besides, if she has been around that long, do you honestly think she'd be happy just handin' the Nachos around at the after-ritual party? No, she's high up, but I get the feeling that she ain't at the top of the ladder." Dean turned the key and the Impala roared into life. The brothers headed out of the hospital car park and back towards the motel

"Oh, one of your famous _feelings_, right, Dean?"

Dean grinned. "That's right! You do research, I go by gut. Works for me."

"Maybe so, but we still need to find out what _kind_ of magic they're using. Then perhaps we can find a way to stop them before they let some evil bastard start stomping around New Orleans. I need my laptop. If I can find out more about these symbols, maybe I can narrow things down a bit."

"I'll drop you back."

"And where are you going?" 

"I need to talk to Cath. We, um, kinda had a bit of a fight earlier."

Sam grinned. "You? You're gonna _apologise_?"

"Hell no! I'm gonna get her to apologise to me!"

"Oh yeah?" 

"Yeah!"

"Now that I'd _pay _to see!"

"Shut up, Sammy. Just, shut _up_!"

……………

Cath sat in the diner, staring out of the window. She played idly with her food, not paying any attention to the comings and goings of the truckers, passers-through and assorted characters that filled the room. It was a normal day. For everyone else. She absent-mindedly put a French fry into her mouth and chewed slowly, her mind going over everything that had happened.

"Mind if I join you?"

Cath glanced up and looked at Dean. His eyes looked tired, but he smiled at her apologetically. She motioned to the seat opposite and Dean sat down.

"You gonna eat that?"

Cath pushed the untouched burger towards him and watched in amusement as he started taking bites out of the bun. "Jesus, Dean, what, you not eaten this year?"

Dean grinned at her, his cheeks stuffed with food. "Mummph!"

"You know, that is the height of bad manners."

Dean swallowed. "What?"

"Talking with yer mouth full, numb-nut!"

Dean's eyes widened in amusement, he took yet another bite of the rapidly vanishing burger and grinned happily, chewing all the while.

"Look, Dean, I'm sorry about earlier." Dean stopped chewing and stared at the Englishwoman. He had only been joking to Sam about getting her to apologise for the fight they had had. He was stunned when she actually _did_ apologise so readily. "I know I hit a nerve with you there. It's kinda a sore point with me too. I was tired and a bit pissed about your brother waving that damn Colt at me like that, so, are we good here?"

Dean swallowed the last mouthful of burger. "Of course we're good, Cath. What, you think that I'd want you as an enemy at the moment? Seriously?"

"I know, but what I said about a normal life…" 

"Look Cath. I can't deny that I've thought about it, you know, settling down, getting a decent job that _doesn't_ involve killing things that come outta nightmares, white picket fence, payin' taxes, all that. But this is all I've ever known. Since I was four years old. You were right. How the hell could people like us go back to that kinda life, knowing what we know? Knowing that people are dying out there, people we could save?" Dean smiled sadly. "Nah, hun, we're screwed. So I figure we make the best damn job of it we can, you know? Maybe next time around it'll be different for us." He took another bite out of the burger. 

"You believe in reincarnation?"

"Rein what?"

"You know, coming back?"

"God I hope not! That would suck out loud!"

Cath laughed, a genuine, warm laugh. It was the first time Dean had heard her laugh like that. Usually there was a hint of darkness and bitterness in Cath's laughs, but this was different. She motioned to the waitress and the girl crossed the room, filling up two mugs of coffee. She smiled broadly at the handsome man and he grinned back, unable to stop himself. Cath laughed again. "Sheesh, Dean, you can do better than a waitress, surely!"

"Hey! She's a hard-workin' girl, just doin' a job!" He looked deep into Cath's eyes. "Just like us, babes."

"OK, I stand corrected. Tell you what, I'll leave her a big tip and your phone number, OK? Now. What you been up to? And don't say nothing, Dean. I know you better than you think."

Dean spent the next hour and several mugs of coffee bringing Cath up to date with everything that had happened. Cath listened intently to every word, never interrupting, just nodding occasionally. Finally Dean finished his update.

"So? What do you think?"

"I think Miss Beverly is playing with some serious mojo here, sweetie. And I think we need to see what your brother has found out. And then? Oh, then, my son, we find these bastards and we kick their collective arses back to hell where they belong. She ain't supposed to be here, Dean. That's gonna cost her big time."

"You think she's done some kind of deal?" 

"Definitely. Problem is, deals with the denizens of Hell usually have small print attached. Come on. There's someone I want you to meet."

"Who?"

"An old oppo of mine. One of _us._"

"What do you mean by that?"

Cath touched the amulet that hung around Dean's neck. "One of _us_, sweetie. One of our kind. Magi." She stood up, but Dean's hand shot out and he grabbed her wrist, pulling her back down into her seat.

"You know, this has been kinda bothering me a bit, Cath."

"Not the time nor the place, Dean."

"It's _exactly_ the time and the place! What the hell do you mean, Magi? They were the dudes that brought presents to the baby Jesus, if you believe that kinda thing. I ain't no wise man, Cath!"

"You can say that again! Will you let go of my wrist or do I have to break your arm?" Dean relaxed his grip. "Thank you! Look, Magi was the name given to warrior priests in Persia. They were specially trained to deal with evil, protect the innocent and those who were important to the outcome of the destiny of mankind. Those three _dudes_, as you like to call them, weren't just there to give the kid pressies, OK? They were there to guard him!"

"So what, you saying that my geeky kid brother is the second coming?"

"What? No! Bloody hell, Dean, get a grip will you! That is _not_ what I'm saying! But you've known all your life that Sam is important, right? Same as my brother…" Cath's voice broke.

"Your brother?"

Cath pulled her hand away from Dean and picked up the coffee mug. Dean knew it was empty. He also knew that Cath was desperately trying to compose herself before carrying on. "He died. I didn't do my job very well, Dean." She drained the last drop of the coffee and put the mug down, staring into the empty cup. "Five years ago, our yellow-eyed buddy took my entire family out. Including my brother. He was one of the Special Kids, Dean. God alone knows why the demon killed him, but he did. Maybe he just didn't come up to spec, I don't know. But I do know that Sam is very high up on every demon's wish list at the moment, and that he _has _to be protected at all costs. That's our job, Dean. That's what we do." She grabbed her leather jacket and stared hard at Dean. "So, shall we go see what your geeky brother has uncovered through the wonder that is Google, or do you wanna spend a bit more time with the waitress?" She threw a handful of dollars on the diner table and started to walk out. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Damn woman, you have got to be just about the most _irritating…" _He stood up, winked at the waitress and followed Cath out into the morning sunshine…

……….

Sam unlocked the motel room door and pushed it open, still staring at the photographs of the painting. He chucked the keys down on the table without looking and wandered over to the coffee machine. His attention was focused completely on the symbols that seemed to squirm and writhe on the page. He was sure he had seen some of them before…

"You must be Sam."

In a split second, Sam's automatic was pointing at the figure sitting in the chair. The man, tall, powerfully built and with short, dirty blond hair, grinned and spread his hands wide, indicating that he was unarmed. Sam knew different. He could smell a hunter when he saw one… The man had the same easy, laid back manner as Cath, and Sam knew just how dangerous _she _was.

"Who the _hell_ are you?"

To be continued… 


	10. Legacy of a Storm

Legacy of a Storm

When the Levees Break – A Supernatural Story Chapter 10

"Whoa there, Tex! Quick on the draw, ain't ya? Cath sent me."

"I didn't ask you who sent you, I asked you who the HELL you were!" 

"Now this is the kind of reaction I'd expect from Dean, not you." The man stood up, the floor length duster coat blowing out behind him. "You wanna close the door there, Tex? Otherwise the neighbours are gonna start wondering what's going on." He grinned at Sam and nodded at the open door. Sam leaned back and kicked the door closed with his foot.

"Keep your hands where I can see them."

"Nope." The man deliberately pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his duster and grinned broadly again at Sam. "I'm havin' far to much fun winding you up, Tex!"

"Stop calling me that!"

"Why?" 

"Because…because it's _annoying_, that's why!"

The man giggled. "Really? Oh, goody! Tex, Tex, Tex…"

"Shut UP!"

"Coo, Cath said you were a bit of a tight-arse, she weren't kidding, was she?" There was that infuriating grin again. It was worse than Dean in one of his stupid, no, make that scream and tear your hair out in frustration irritating moods. Sam was tired, he'd spent the last few days having one _hell _of a time and now _this?_ His finger tightened on the trigger.

"A name. Now. Or I'll just shoot you anyway and damn the consequences. I'll just say it was self-defe…" Before he could finish the sentence, the man had moved like lightning and Sam found himself pressed face up against the wall, his arm twisted hard and the gun dropping from his fingers. The man was immensely strong and _fast_… damn, he was fast! The lazy manner and childish taunts had disguised a professional hunter of the highest standard…

"Marcus. My name, Sam, is Marcus. I'm Cath's oppo. And she sent me here to babysit you until your brother and her get back. You are into some serious shit here, son, and you know it. If Cath says you need babysitting, then you need babysitting. You looked outside the window lately?" Sam felt the pressure ease on his wrist and was spun around to face the man. Marcus grinned at him again, a warm, friendly smile. The green-grey eyes sparkled with amusement but underneath, Sam saw the same cold, hard professionalism that he had seen in Cath's eyes that first time.

"What are you talking about?"

"Go see!" Marcus stepped back and casually tossed the gun back to Sam. Sam caught it – the safety catch had been off all along… He pushed aside the curtain and saw nothing. An empty car park, deserted sidewalks, nothing.

"I don't see anything."

"That's because you're looking with your eyes. Look with your _instinct_!"

Sam looked again, harder. And there… Just on the edge of his peripheral vision, he could see shadows – figures moving in the half-light of the dawn. And he could here them, whispering, calling out for help, their voices catching on the breeze, filled with desperation and loathing for the living…

"What the hell…"

"Probably, although my guess is they're on the pay-roll of whatever bad-ass demon is after your carcass, Sam, my boy! Mind if I help myself to some coffee? I've had one bitch of a drive down here. New York is a bloody long way, you know?" Marcus didn't wait for a response and busied himself by the coffee machine. "You want?"

"What?"

Marcus held the jug up. "Coffee?"

"Um, kinda _preoccupied_ here, dude!"

"Oh, don't worry about them, they can't get in here."

"Did you _not read_ the reports on the deaths in this town lately?"

"Ah, but those poor bastards didn't have the advantage of chalk, did they?"

"Marcus, what the _hell _are you talking about?"

"Cath gave me a full rundown on the situ here. Soo, before I snuck in, I put a couple of protection marks over the doors and windows. Kinda locks the place down. They can stand there all day, grumblin' and mumblin' but we ain't gonna get any unexpected visitors anytime soon."

Sam turned and looked at the man, an annoyed look on his face. "Didn't work on you, though, did it?"

Marcus laughed. "Ironic, ain't it? Cath'll love that, what with her being English and all. You know how they love to think they invented irony!" He held out a mug of coffee to Sam. "Peace offering? Oh, c'mon, work with me here, Sam. If I was a bad guy, you'd be dead by now, you know that. I promise I haven't poisoned the java, dude!"

Marcus slumped down in the chair, one leg hanging over the arm. Just like Cath… Sam took the coffee and sat on the bed, his eyes never leaving the man. Marcus was tall; well over six foot. He was powerfully built, the muscles barely disguised by the long coat, white tee-shirt and tatty jeans. Dirty blonde hair was cut fashionably short and he had a face that was open and friendly, with a ready smile constantly playing around the corners of his mouth. He seemed likeable. But he had proved already that he was a dangerous opponent. Sam noticed an amulet hanging around the man's neck on a leather thong – an amulet that seemed familiar…

"So, Samuel. Wanna tell me what you found at Chez Crane?" Marcus lit a cigarette and made himself comfortable.

Sam's face hardened. "OK, Marcus. Let's get a few things clear, shall we? One, I don't need babysitting by anyone, _especially_ on the orders of Cath Miller. Two, my name is _Sam_. Call me Samuel again and I don't care _how_ goddamn good you _think_ you are, I'll kick your ass. And three, what the hell makes you think I'm gonna tell you _anything_?"

Marcus sighed deeply. "OK Sam, let's clear up a few misunderstandings, shall we? One, for Christ's sake, _stop _butting heads with Cath, will you, boy? The woman is on your side. She's here to protect you from something that is _way_ bigger than anything you've ever dealt with before, so how about being a little more gracious about the fact that someone of her calibre is taking the time to think about your well-being and safety, OK? That lady doesn't deal with small stuff, Sam. She deals with major league baddies. She's the thing demons check under the bed at night for, you understand? OK, maybe I shouldn't have used the phrase _babysitting_, I'll grant you. But until you know the facts, sunshine, keep your mind open." Marcus took a long pull on the cigarette and Sam opened his mouth to speak. "A-a-a, I ain't finished yet, Tex! Two, got ya on the Sam thing." He grinned mischievously. "Promise I won't call you Samuel again." He grinned again. "Unless you piss me off, that is. Oh, and _any_time, kiddo, with the ass-kicking contest!" He raised an eyebrow. The smile changed in an instant to warm and friendly to hard and chilling… "And _three,_ you'd be wise to run things by me. I know more about this kinda thing than you do. That's the main reason why Cath called me in. Cath specialises in demons, I specialise in covens." He pulled a face. "Can't stand all that 'It's my turn to strangle the baby' ego shit, ya know?"

Sam stared at the man. He couldn't decide what to make of him. Marcus's sudden appearance in his motel room had surprised the hell out of him but his instincts told him he had nothing to fear from this most irritating of individuals. The smile was genuine. The eyes were full of fun. Sam couldn't help himself. He shook his head and laughed quietly.

"What?"

"OK, dude, you win."

"Yey me!"

Sam laughed out loud. "Man, I can't wait for Dean to meet you."

"Oh, Dean and I know each other."

"Really? He's never mentioned you."

Marcus's face suddenly became serious. "We didn't meet under the best of circumstances, Sam. No fault of Dean's. It was, well, it was kind of a bad time for all of us. Especially Cath."

"New York?"

Marcus nodded. "Enough said, Sam. It's past history. Now, for the umpteenth time, what did you find out at the Crane residence? I'm dying to know!" He grinned, the dark memories of five years before blocked out. Sam knew better than to push him on the subject.

"You said you specialise in covens, right?" Marcus nodded. "So how are you on occult symbols?"

"How am I? I _majored_ in occult symbols, Sam! Show me, show me, show me!" Sam laughed again and handed the pictures over to Marcus. He rifled through them, deep in concentration.

"Whoa."

"Whoa what?"

Marcus looked up, his eyes serious. "Sam, I'm surprised you and Dean got outta there alive, son. See this glyph?" He pointed at a strange marking on the painting. "This is the glyph of Baal, Commander of the Legions of Hell, third in command and a _real_ son of a bitch! And this one? That's Astaroth, _second_ in command! Shit, dude, this family have been messing with the top drawer of Hell!"

"So what kind of magic are we dealing with here, Marcus?"

"High Magic. Usually spelt with a K, just for added emphasis and to define it from yer ordinary, run of the mill, hocus pocus." 

"So not voodoo then?"

"Shit, no! Voodoo isn't even in the same _league_ as this crap!"

"So how come we found a lot of voodoo symbolism in the place then?"

"They were a slave owning family, right?" 

"Yeah."

"Well, probably the voodoo imagery is there to keep the slaves in check. Either that or they just adapted it as part of their own, unique brand of crappery."

Marcus, how do we fight this?"

Marcus grinned happily. "Easy. We run away!"

"Marcus…"

"Sam, I'm joking! Actually, this is good news. High Magick relies heavily on planetary aspects, timing, all the heavenly bodies being in the right place at the right time, OK? So what we have to do is research that aspect of things, and we'll get ourselves a time-line to work to. Then? We hit them at the precise moment that they're going for the big finale and screw up their ritual. Door to Hell closes, everybody gets what they deserve, be that a one way ticket to the hot place or whatever, and _we_ all go get real drunk! You got access to the internet?"

"Always."

"Then power up, Google-Boy!"

Sam stared at Marcus. "Jesus, you really _do_ know Dean, don't you?"

……………..

Dean pushed the door of the motel room open. "Hey Sam, how's it goin'?" Sam looked up and grinned.

"Good. Dean, you remember…"

Marcus!" Cath pushed past Dean and ran up to the tall man, a huge smile on her face. Marcus beamed happily at the Englishwoman and scooped her up in his arms, swinging the woman round effortlessly. He held on tight to her, pure happiness on his face.

"Hey baby!" He kissed her passionately, both of them completely oblivious to the stares of the brothers. Marcus pushed an errant strand of Cath's red hair from her face and gazed deep into her eyes. "You look tired, baby. When'd you last get any sleep?"

"Don't be daft, you big lump! And for the love of God, will you _put me down!_" Marcus laughed and kissed her again.

"Never!"

"Marcus…" 

"Nope! OW! Hey! That hurt!"

"Serves you bloody well right! Now put me _down!"_

"OK, but promise you won't kick me again!"

"I promise nothing but unending pain if you don't…"

"Woman, you are _brutal_, you know that?" He laughed merrily and put the woman gently back on her feet.

"Shit, I think you broke one of my ribs…" Cath rubbed her side and grinned back at him. "So. D'ya scare the crap outta younger Winchester?" 

"Ooo yeah, bet yer arse I did! He pulled a gun on me and everything. He's quick, I'll give him that. Hey Dean. Good to see you again, dude."

Dean's face was a mask of confusion and hurt. Seeing Cath and Marcus together again had shaken him to the core. "I need, um, I need something to drink." He turned and, without another word, walked back out of the door. He leaned on the veranda in the sunshine, memories and images crashing through his mind – memories of a filthy alleyway in New York. Memories of Marcus; blood pouring from the vicious wound in his chest. Memories of Cath; her eyes black with fury, the swords in her hands covered in blood. And memories of his father, aiming the gun and firing three shots into the enraged woman… And now? Dean screwed his eyes tight shut. He didn't understand…

"Dude, you OK? I know it was a bit of a shock, seeing me in there, but…" Marcus had slipped silently onto the veranda and stood beside Dean. He laid a hand on Dean's shoulder. "I kinda didn't expect that reaction, Dean."

"I…I know. I'm sorry, man." Dean turned and smiled grimly at Marcus. "It's good to see you again, Marcus." The two men stared at each other for a few seconds, then embraced. The old friendship had been renewed…

Marcus stepped back. "Hey, did you mention something about a drink?" He grinned. Dean laughed.

"It's kinda early, man. I just said that because…" 

"You needed to get your head together, I get it."

"So. You and Cath."

"It's been me and Cathy for a while, bro." Marcus pulled out a cigarette and offered one to Dean. Dean shook his head.

"No thanks, man."

Marcus shrugged and lit his own. "After New York, Cath took a while to heal. Both physically and up here." He tapped the side of his head. "I knew that what happened, what opened me up like that, wasn't the real Cath Miller. Not the Cath Miller I knew and loved. So, I decided that she needed someone to talk her down. Besides, I had to do a bit of healing of my own, you know? So, we healed together. It kinda made us close."

"I'm sorry we had to run like that."

"Man, I understand! Jesus Dean, if you hadn't, you'd have got pulled into the same shit that me and Cathy ended up in. Now? Well, I knew our paths would cross again, when they needed to. Hey, listen. I'm sorry about your dad, Dean. He was a good man." 

"Yeah." Dean took a deep breath and smiled again. The smile was filled with sadness. "It's good that Cath's got someone. She needs it."

"Dean, it's a complicated relationship, her and me. We spend most of the time apart, hunting. We rarely hunt together. It makes things, um, well, _unprofessional_."

"What?"

"Look, I care about Cathy more than you'll ever know, which means my reactions and judgement would be coloured. If she was in danger, Dean, I'd climb over the backs of anyone to protect her. Even you and Sam. And that's _not_ always the right thing to do, she'll tell you that."

"So that's what she meant when she said that we didn't have time for personal, right?"

"Exactly."

"So what's so different this time? Why team up with her on a hunt now?"

"Because this is huge, Dean." Marcus's face was serious. "This is one battle that nobody can win on their own. We're up against the real major league hitters, dude. Not your little yellow-eyed friend, trust me. That's like going up against a parking attendant. _These_ guys are talking about ending _everything_, Dean. Creation, the whole shebang. Starting again, from scratch. But this time with Hell in charge of the blueprints. And it's all goin' down in New Orleans."

"Why here? Why now?"

"Remember how people said that Hurricane Katrina was the storm from Hell, dude? How it smashed everything, not just houses, but _hope_ as well?" Dean nodded. Marcus's eyes were dark. He looked worried, not the usual, jovial, happy go lucky man that Dean knew. "They weren't wrong, Dean. That storm _did_ come from Hell. It blew up outta nowhere. The meteorological dudes were taken completely by surprise. Because it wasn't a natural storm, man. It was called up. Called up by one mother of a powerful coven. It's called raising the wind. Just ain't nobody done it to that extent before. But it did more than break some rooftiles, Dean. That storm was just the start of it. It took away the people's belief, their faith, everything. The whole thing was orchestrated like a goddamn symphony. The pathetic response from the government, the feeling of abandonment? All orchestrated by Hell to feed the anger, the despair. Look around you. Do you see any happiness here? This _is_ Hell, Dean, Hell on Earth. And it's about to get a whole lot worse."

Dean stared out into the morning sunshine. Everything looked so peaceful, so, _OK…_ But no. If you looked harder, you could see it – the shattered lives, the anger in the eyes of the people, the feeling of abandonment, the whispers of the dead in the breeze…

"The dead haven't left, Dean. The living can't. The air is thick with anger. Perfect breeding ground for evil. The major league demons need negative emotions to feed them." Marcus gestured. "How much more of a banquet do you think they could wish for?"

"How long have we got?"

Marcus stubbed the cigarette out with his boot. "Five days, dude. We have five days…"

………

"So what happens then?" Sam was staring at the computer screen, the images flickering and flashing in cyberspace."

Cath was sitting on Marcus's lap, his arm around her waist, holding her tight. "In five days, we have a conjunction between Pluto and the Galactic Centre. It happens once every 248 years. It's a portent of chaos and extreme change." Marcus patted Cath on the butt and she jumped off his lap. He stood up and walked over to the laptop, leaning over Sam's shoulder and staring intently at the screen. He tapped a couple of keys. "The weather forecast says we have another hurricane developing in the Florida Keys, which could make landfall here in New Orleans. It's only a little one at the moment, but I guarantee it's gonna be a damn sight bigger by the time it hits us. There's another portent." He tapped another key. "Comet McNaught. Visible in, would anyone care to guess?"

Five days time?"

"Ten points to Dean there."

"Shit."

"Shit indeedy, baby." Marcus ran his hand through his hair. "Jesus, Cathy, this is gonna be one hell of a ride!"

Sam turned away from the screen and looked at Dean. "Problem is, Dean, we still don't know where and how this coven are gonna try to do whatever it is they're gonna do." Dean sat leaning against the table, his arms crossed and a serious look on his face.

"How about just killin' this Beverly chick? Wouldn't that stop things?"

"You wanna try?"

"Hell yes! The bitch is two hundred years old, which, I don't care what anyone says, makes her supernatural in my eyes, she's a killer, she's into freaky mojo shit and, you know? I just _don't like her_!" Dean was itching for a fight. Sam could see it in his eyes. He could see it in all three of the hunters.

"Dean, she's not just gonna roll over and let you poke her with a stick, dude!"

"What if it's a really _big _stick?"

"Not even then."

Cath smiled darkly. "It might slow them down a bit, though, Sam."

"I thought you wanted to use her to lead us to the rest of them?"

Cath stood up and stretched lazily. "That's my whole point, sweetie. If we get our hands on her, and if she really _is_ that important to the whole thing, which, by the way, I think she is, then they're gonna walk over hot coals to get her back, aren't they?" She smiled again. Instead of bringing the battle to them, let's get them to bring the battle to _us_. That way, _we_ get to chose when and where we fight. In the army we call it taking the high ground."

Marcus grinned. "That's my girl!"

Dean smiled. Sam didn't like the smile…"Suits me!"

Cath's gaze fell on Sam. "Sam? You're key to all this. They need you and their whole campaign so far has been to get their hands on you. You happy with facing them off?"

Sam thought long and hard. He tipped his head up and his eyes locked with Cath's.

"What choice do we have?"

"None. We have no choice, Sam."

"OK. We better arm up then, hadn't we?" Sam closed the laptop slowly. The battle had started…

_**TO BE CONTINUED…..**_


	11. Seeing without Eyes

Seeing without eyes

When the Levees Break – A Supernatural Story Chapter 11

"OK, so we go after Beverly. You well versed in kidnapping powerful witches, then, Cath?" Dean grinned at the Englishwoman. She grinned back.

"Sweetie, what do you think I used to do in the army?"

"Kidnap witches? Seriously?" 

"What? NO! Good grief, Dean, sometimes I swear I could slap you silly just for the hell of it!" Marcus laughed out loud at the banter between the two hunters.

"She specialised in capture and interrogation, Deano."

Dean stared hard at Cath. "You?" Cath nodded and winked mischievously at Dean. "Whoa…"

Sam glanced up from the computer. Somehow, he was not surprised to hear about Cath's dark past… "I got a fix. On the coven." All eyes turned to Sam, a look of pride on Dean's face.

"That's my geeky kid brother, that is! OK Sammy, what we got?"

"Would you believe these people have their own damn website? New Orleans Wicca dot com. It's the usual, 'we're really nice people, doing nice fluffy magic' kinda thing, but if you look harder at the site, there's a few give-aways. Marcus? What do you make of these?" Sam pointed onto the screen at a symbol.

Dean glanced over Marcus's shoulder. "Hey, that's the same as…"

"The one in the painting at Beverly's house, yes. I noticed that too."

"It's a binding symbol. Used in controlling demonic summoning. But very _particular_ summoning." Marcus looked serious. "Jesus, I haven't seen this since we took out that coven in Kent…" Marcus's voice faded as he looked at Cath. Her expression was completely blank. No emotion. No reaction. But Marcus knew that what he had just said had triggered a dark and terrible memory in the woman. Quicksand time… "Cath, it may not be the same…"

"Marcus, you know full well it's the same." She turned and walked out of the room.

"Shit…" Marcus ran after her, concern etched onto his face. Sam and Dean stared at each other.

"What the hell was all that about?"

"Damned if I know, Sammy."

Marcus caught up with Cath as she was reaching into the back of the Land Rover. "Cathy, baby, listen." He turned her around by the shoulder, one hand resting gently on her cheek. "We have bigger things to think about here than just revenge for Robin, love."

"Robin? Revenge for Robin? How about revenge for my whole _fucking team_, Marcus? These bastards killed six of the best damn soldiers I ever knew. One of them was my brother. I'm not taking any chances this time, old son." The high-velocity rifle made a sickeningly chilling, oiled click. "We ain't gonna get close enough to grab this bitch, Marcus, so…" 

"Whoa, hang on there, Sparky!" Marcus put a hand on the rifle and pushed it down." We need to think here, babes. We go in, guns blazing, we achieve _nothing_, Cath, we stop _nothing_! Think, woman! Think like a soldier, OK?"

"You're kidding me, right? You're telling _me_ how to do this?"

"Hell YES! Because at the moment, babes, you're thinking with your heart, not your head. You go in there like this, we're all gonna get killed, including those two in there." He jabbed a thumb towards the motel room. "Now I know that, when it comes to killing demons, there ain't nobody even close to you. But this is _my_ speciality, babes, OK? And we are _not_ gonna make the same mistake as we did in Kent. Crystal?" 

Cath ran her hand through her long red hair. She laid the rifle down on the parcel shelf of the big car and leaned on the frame, the muscles on her arms tense. "OK. Crystal, Marcus. I'm sorry I blew up like that. It's… it's been a tough couple of days." 

"Yeah, and it's gonna get tougher. Listen. You and I will check the rest of the coven out, and we'll get Sam and Dean to keep a tail on Beverly the Bitch, OK? As soon as they think we have a clear chance at grabbing her, we pincer in, grab the witch, preferably in a very public place so she can't try any of that mojo shit on us, and get the hell outta town for a couple of days. That'll give us a bargaining chip with the coven, they'll be so damn anxious to get their high priestess back, they'll agree to anything we say, _especially_ as we have Sam as well, and then _we _can choose the battleground, Cath."

"Your plan sucks, Marcus."

Marcus grinned and kissed Cath. "Thanks, babes. Got anything better?"

"At the moment? No. But give me oh, I don't know, thirty _seconds_ and perhaps I can come up with something better!" She sat back on the edge of the parcel shelf, her powerful arms crossed across her chest. Marcus studied her. He knew that razor sharp mind of hers was looking at all possible angles… "It would be better if you stick with Sam, sweetie. You know about these bastards and what they're up to. You also happen to be a fucking powerful warlock, babes. If anything starts zapping through the air from any bugger's fingertips at Sam, I want to know that there is someone there who's capable of zapping the bastards back. Me and Dean, we're just soldiers, hun. It's Sam who's important here, and his safety is paramount. If me or Dean cop a bullet, then it's a bugger, but it's no biggy. If Sam gets hurt, we're _all_ in trouble."

"Hey! I've got no damn intention of copping _any_ bullet, lady!" Dean grinned at her.

"Jesus, Dean! You don't 'arf creep up on people, don't ya?"

Dean shrugged. "Sorry, guys, I know it was a private conversation, but if my little brother's safety is an issue, then it becomes my concern as well." He looked at Marcus. "She's right, dude. I don't have the first clue as to how to deal with these sons of bitches, but you do. We stick to the original plan. We grab Beverly, you do your, um, _interrogation_ mojo on her Cath, and we hit them. Hard."

"Well, a Devil's Trap isn't gonna work on the bitch, she isn't possessed." Marcus flipped open a packet of cigarettes and handed one to Cath. "The only thing we can use on her is a Witches Jar. And for that, I'm gonna need a piece of her. " The Zippo flared.

"Excuse me?"

"As in a lock of hair, something like that."

Dean looked relieved. "Dude, when you said a piece of her I thought…"

Marcus grinned. "Man, don't go down that road, OK, Dean?"

Dean stared at Marcus. "Dude, you're as bad as my brother. So what the hell is a Witches Jar?"

"It's a kinda binding spell. The belief is that if you hold something that has the essence of the person, like hair, blood or fingernail clippings for example, you can perform a binding spell to control their actions. Works every time, trust me. If we can get, say, a strand of hair from a hairbrush or something, I can put together a binding spell that'll disable her ability to perform any magic until and unless _we _say so."

Dean looked bemused. "So, what you're asking me to do is to break into some bitches bedroom and steal her _hairbrush_? Seriously?"

"Good grief no! That would be, well, _weird_! Just a couple of hairs."

"Oh, well that makes _all _the goddamn difference, I'm sure!" Dean scratched his head. "So, me and Sam, will, um, go steal some hair." He shook his head. "Damn, _there's_ something I never thought I'd say…" He turned back into the motel room, still looking bemused at the idea. Marcus called after him.

"Dean? Seriously, be careful. If she catches you, she'll know why you're there. She isn't stupid."

"Yeah, okay…"

……………………

Sam kept watch while Dean picked the lock. The alarm system hadn't been fixed yet, and Dean breathed a silent sigh of relief as the door swung open. He slipped silently into the kitchen, shuddering at the memories of what Mamma Deveau had told him had gone on here. Two flashlights cut through the darkness and the brothers made their way silently through the house. "Bedrooms'll be upstairs, Sammy."

Sam stared in disbelief at his brother. "Ya _think_?"

Dean had the good grace to look suitably embarrassed for stating the bleeding obvious and led the way. The house was completely devoid of life. The brothers made their way methodically through each room until they pushed open a door on the main landing. Their eyes widened as they looked at the décor and contents of the room.

"Well, I guess we've found Beverly's pad, Sammy." Sam nodded, fighting the disgust and repulsion on seeing the room. Every inch was filled with occult symbols, tools, weapons and other paraphernalia. Dean whistled quietly. "Damn, this bitch is into some _serious_ crap!" He looked at Sam. "You honestly think that there's gonna be a _hairbrush_ in the middle of all this death and destruction?"

Sam shrugged. "Guess even evil witches have to brush their hair occasionally!" They began to search the room for that most innocuous of items. Dean moved over to the huge bed, carefully moving the detritus on the bedside table. He grinned in the darkness.

"Dude, this feels _weird_!"

"What?"

"Goin' through her personal stuff like this. I mean, we've done plenty of breaking and entering in our time, but, I don't know…" 

"Dean, _seriously_?" 

"What? It's just kinda weirding me out a bit, that's all! Hey, what's this?" His fingers tightened around something on the table and he held it up. Both brothers stared and Dean dropped the object in his hand as if it had burned him, a look of utter disgust on his face.

"Oh, man, that is just plain _nasty_!"

"Focus, Dean, OK?" 

"Oh, c'mon! That's just not natural, having something like _that_ next to your bed! Ah-ha! Got it!" He held up the brush, the blond hairs shimmering in the torchlight.

Sam pulled out a plastic bag and held it out to Dean. "OK, bag and tag it, and let's get the hell out of here before anyone comes back." Dean took the bag and carefully put a few hairs in the bag. He snapped it closed and put it safely in an inside pocket of his jacket.

"Right. Let's go."

"And where would you go to, brothers Winchester?"

Sam and Dean spun around, their weapons already in their hands. Two flashlight beams lit up the figure standing in the doorway. Her gossamer white dress left nothing to the imagination, but the eyes… Like two burning coals, they glowed with hatred and power. "Why, what are two little hunters doing snooping around a girl's bedroom in the wee small hours, hmm?" She stalked slowly towards them, an evil smile playing around her lips.

"Stay right where you are, lady." Dean clicked the safety catch off on his automatic pistol. "I don't wanna have to shoot you, what with you not being suitably dressed and all!" He returned the nasty smile she gave him. He had no qualms about putting a bullet in the murdering bitch if he had to… The gun was ripped out of his hand and he felt an invisible power slam into him. He flew backwards and crashed into the wall, sliding slowly down to the floor. The pain of the impact flooded through him and his vision blurred.

"DEAN!" Sam spun back, facing Beverly, anger in his eyes. She glanced at him, amusement on her face.

"What are you doing here, Sammy?"

"It's SAM, bitch!" Sam was worried. Very worried. She was obviously powerful enough to disarm and quite possibly kill both of them if she so wished. But the violent, invisible power that had hurled Dean across the room like a rag doll didn't hit him. He braced himself, but that blow never came. Beverly smiled at him, not the same vicious, cold smile she had given Dean. It was almost one of love, of compassion, of a _mother_ for her child…

"Oh, Sammy, there's no need to be so defensive, my little one! We've been waiting for you for so long, so very long…" She glided towards Sam, the transparent dress floating around her like a cloud. Sam took a step back, not wanting the woman to get too close. He knew what she was capable of. He knew just how vulnerable both he and Dean were at this precise moment. Suddenly, Beverly seemed to move through space and time, almost like a film jumping a frame. She stood inches away from the man, that same loving smile on his face. She caressed his cheek gently. "Oh, such a _fine_ young man! So perfect, so…"

Dean reared up behind Beverly, the heavily carved staff in his hand. The blow to the back of Beverly's blond head knocked her to the ground. Dean had pulled the swing – he didn't want to kill the woman in cold blood. That wasn't his way. He just wanted to shut the bitch up… "Man, does that bitch _ever _stop talking?" He glared at the unconscious figure of the woman lying at Sam's feet. "Well? Shall we?"

Sam swallowed hard and nodded. "Hell, yeah!" The two men turned and ran from the room, determined not to stop until they were as far away from the witch as possible…

In the silence of the room, Beverly moaned softly and pulled herself up onto her elbows. She gingerly touched the back of her head where Dean's blow had landed and felt the sticky sensation of blood on her fingertips. Rage filled her and her eyes burned with fury – he would pay for that, oh how he would pay! Dean's death would be slow and so very, very painful. She glanced over at where he had slammed into the wall and smiled slowly…

Dean hurled the Impala through the night, still repulsed at the memory of the witch caressing his brother so lovingly. His hand went to the back of his head and he felt the growing lump carefully. "Damn, that bitch near busted my head with that!" He looked at his fingertips and in the half-light could see the trace of blood from the wound.

"You OK, Dean?"

"Yeah, must've cut my head when I hit her wall. You know, the number of times I get thrown against walls by angry spooks, you'd think I'd gotten used to it, wouldn't ya?" Dean grinned at his brother. "Anyway, we got what we came for and…" Dean stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes screwed shut, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel of the car.

"Dean? DEAN!" Sam grabbed at the wheel just in time to stop his brother driving straight into a levee wall. He wrestled control of the big car, hauled on the handbrake and skidded the Impala to a halt. Sam breathed a quick sigh of relief and then turned to his brother. Dean was in obvious pain, his hand clenched over his eyes. A sudden cry of agony threw his head back and Sam gasped in horror. Blood flowed down Dean's cheeks like red tears, staining the neck of his tee-shirt bright red… "Jesus, Dean! Sam cupped his hands around his brother's face, but Dean was on the point of unconsciousness. His hand shot out and grabbed his brother's wrist, the grip almost grinding the bones of Sam's wrist together.

"Sam! I…I can't see! I can't see, Sammy! What the hell…" Dean's head slumped forward onto his chest and his body slid sideways, unconscious. Sam caught him and rested his head back gently against the support of the driver's chair, confusion and dreadful concern for his brother filling him.

"Dean? Oh, God no…"

Back in her room, Beverly had carefully captured the few millimetres of Dean's blood that had smeared the wall as he had slid down. The blow had been slight, but it was enough… She had used a cotton bud to take just the slightest sample; it was all she needed. A few moments later, she had lit the brazier, added just the right ingredients and was staring deep into the billowing smoke. Quietly, she invoked the spell, her voice barely audible. She scraped the bloodstained cotton from the cotton bud and dropped it into the flames. "You cannot hunt if you cannot see, Dean Winchester!" Beverly felt the rush of power as the spell took hold. "Your eyes belong to me, now, child! Your eyes belong to ME!" Beverly threw back her head and laughed. Her revenge against Dean had begun…

………………………

Sam burst through the door of the motel room, blind panic on his face. He skidded to a stop as two automatic pistol barrels trained on him instantly. The eyes of the two hunters were cold, hard and professional. Marcus pulled his pistol up and grinned. "Oh, it's only the kid." He saw the look on Sam's face and concern filled him. "Sam, what's wrong?"

"It's Dean…"

Sam and Marcus carried the unconscious Dean into the room and gently laid him down on the bed. Cath carefully wiped the blood trails from his cheeks, her face deadly serious. "What happened, Sam?"

"I…I don't know! We were driving away from Beverly's and suddenly Dean just…" He waved his hand at his unconscious brother, Marcus put a hand on his shoulder and gently but firmly pushed him down into a chair. He crouched down in front of the man, his hand still on Sam's shoulder.

"Start at the beginning. Tell me everything."

Sam took a deep breath and told them of the encounter with Beverly, how she had thrown Dean across the room, how Dean had knocked her out with the staff, the whole story. He stood up and walked over to the prone figure of Dean, reached inside his jacket and pulled out the bag containing the strands of blond hair. "We got what you wanted. But Dean…"

"Sam, think. Did Dean leave anything of his there? Anything that Beverly could use against him?" Sam shook his head, but then a memory came back…

"When she threw him into the wall, he must of cut his head or something. And what you said about having a piece of her to do that witches jar spell…" 

Cath gently moved Dean's head to one side and delicately checked the wound he had sustained on impact. Her fingers touched the broken skin and she looked up at Marcus. "He may have left some blood behind, love."

"That would be all she would need, just the faintest trace, anything. Fuck!" Marcus stood up, the bag with the strands of hair in his hand. "We have to move fast, guys. Your brother has managed to royally piss a major league witch off, and she's got part of him."

"I don't understand…"

"Remember what I said about being able to bind someone if you possess a part of them, you know, finger-nail clippings, hair, _blood_? Well, she's bound Dean. And my guess is that she is gonna take great delight in hurting him as much as possible before trying to kill him. And Sam? She doesn't even have to be in the same room." His face hardened and he held the bag up. "Well, two can play at that game, bitch!" The smile on his face was chilling.

"What about Dean? How do we help my brother?" Sam didn't care about Beverly. All he cared about was his unconscious and injured brother, lying on the bed. "How do we stop her hurting him any more? And how the HELL do we get his sight back?"

Marcus put the bag into a pocket and turned to Cath. "Babes, I need you to look after these two. I'll be back in about two hours." Cath nodded, a grim look on her face. She was as mad as hell. This was _not _how things were supposed to have turned out…

"Marcus…" 

"Sam, trust me. I'm gonna do everything I can to help Dean. But first I have to stop the bitch from doing any further damage, OK? _Trust me_, Sam. Stay here. Dean will need you when he comes around." Marcus turned and was gone. Sam stared at the door, his mind filled with confusion. A soft moan from the bed snapped his attention back.

"Sam, I think he's coming around…" Cath stepped back and let Sam take up station beside Dean. She moved over to the other side of the room and sat down in the chair, concern for the man eating at her. Sam held Dean's hand as his brother's sightless eyes opened slowly. He felt the grip on his hand tighten as panic gripped Dean. Nothing. He could see nothing…

"Sammy! Oh god, I…"

"Dean, it's OK, I'm here! We're back at the motel, Dean, Cath's here, _I'm_ here, you're OK, bro, your, OK!" Sam tried to reassure his frightened brother, but the grip didn't ease.

"I can't see! I can't fucking SEE!" Tears welled up in Dean's blank eyes. He stared at Sam, not seeing his beloved brother, not seeing the fear mirrored back at him, not seeing _anything_.

"I know, man, I know. It's Beverly. She's put some voodoo shit on you. Don't worry, Dean, Marcus is on it. You're gonna be OK, Dean, I promise. You're gonna be OK…." Sam tried desperately to cover the panic in his own voice. He had never seen Dean so frightened, so vulnerable…

To be continued… 


	12. Fire in the Blood

Fire in the blood

When the Levees Break – A Supernatural story – chapter 12

Sam sat by the bed, his gaze never leaving his brother. Dean lay still, his breathing ragged and uneven. Sam had finally managed to calm his frightened brother down and persuaded him to try to sleep. He could see from Dean's expression that his dreams were haunted with dark and terrifying images that only he could know of. Sam ran a hand through his hair and breathed deeply. It had been one hell of a night…

"Why don't you try and get some sleep too, Sam? I'll keep watch over Dean for a couple of hours for you." Sam started. He had completely forgotten that Cath was still in the room.

"Nah, it's OK thanks, Cath. I'd rather be here when he wakes up."

"I'm not asking you to move to Canada, Sam, I'm telling you you need to sleep!" Cath pointed to the second bed, only a couple of feet from Dean's bed. "Get some shut-eye, son. Seriously. You're gonna thank me later." She smiled gently at the man – he was obviously exhausted and worried sick about his brother. "Your choice. You either sleep voluntarily, or I punch you out."

"That's the army's way of doing things is it, Cath?"

"Are we gonna keep having this kind of confrontational conversation, Sam, or are you gonna listen to reason?"

"You started with the confrontation, lady!"

"OK, I'm sorry. I know you're worried about Dean, but Marcus is on it, Sam. Trust him. He's the best there is." 

"I thought _you_ were the best there is!"

"Sam, I'm just the heavy artillery, love. This witchcraft and coven shit is Marcus's bag, not mine. If it's got horns, a forked tail and nasty glowy eyes, I kill it. If it's into all that "It's my turn to strangle the chicken" crap, it's his, OK?" Now get some down time."

"So when do you sleep?"

A haunted look flashed across Cath's face. "Rarely." She pointed at the bed and Sam, unable to argue with her any more, slumped down on it. Cath had been right. Within seconds, his eyes closed and he was out cold.

Cath quietly sat down next to Dean and stroked his hair gently. "Jesus, Dean, you really do get yerself beat up, son, don't you?" He moaned softly in his sleep and she soothed him again. "Ssh, sweetie, it's OK." Cath sat back in the chair, one long leg hanging over the armrest. "Sweet Holy fucking Mary, what the hell are we dealing with here?" The pseudo-prayer could have been offered to any god, any time.

Cath was worried. Very, very worried.

She had spent the last god knows how many years becoming a legend in the hunting community. She was unnervingly fast, powerful and deadly. One of the many rumours surrounding the woman was that she wasn't _entirely _human. If only they knew… She fought with no thought of her own safety, and only a very few understood why. She was tired of this life. Tired of the fight. Tired of seeing good people suffer and for what? She'd been a soldier all her life. It was all she had ever known. Her father had been in the Special Forces and was a highly decorated officer. It was natural for her to follow his footsteps. She smiled faintly at the memory. Her Dad had always said that Cath Miller should have been born a boy, not a girl. But then, the fates had always played games with her family. Her mother had been taken from her when she was four. Her brother was only six months old at the time – too young to remember the terrible fire that engulfed their home that dreadful night. And then, five years ago, that dreadful massacre that had cost her brother, father and little sister their lives, all at the hands of that yellow-eyed son of a bitch… Cath covered her eyes with her hand, trying to block the memories out, trying to stop that terrible black anger that had engulfed her and sent her spinning into madness… She heard Dean moan again and shift on his bed. Instantly the dark trip down memory lane was forgotten and her attention focused back onto the injured man. His sightless eyes snapped open, and Cath could see his knuckles whiten as he twisted his fists into the bedsheet.

"Hey, easy there, big fella! She laid a hand on his arm. "It's me, Dean, Cathy."

Dean smiled bleakly. "I didn't think anyone called you that."

Although she knew he couldn't see it, Cath smiled back at the man. "Special dispensation for the wounded, Dean." She stroked his forehead gently. "How you feeling?"

"Scared. Scared outta my goddamn mind."

Cath knew that this was a big admission from someone like Dean. He reached out blindly for her and she embraced him tenderly. "I know babes, I know."

"Cathy, what if Marcus can't reverse this? What if I'm stuck like this for the rest of my life? How can I hunt if I can't see? How can I protect Sammy if I can't even see what the fuck I'm shooting at? Jesus, I feel so fucking helpless!" Cath could hear the panic in Dean's voice. In the darkness of his blind eyes, he was completely and utterly alone. The thing he feared more than anything else in the world…"Cathy, please! Tell me! What do I do?"

Cath held Dean tight. She could feel his tears burning into her shoulder and she rocked him gently. "Ssh, babes. It's gonna be OK, I promise. Marcus knows what he's doing. Trust me, sweetie, you've got the best in the business on the case. And if I know him, you'll be back to normal in no time!" Deep down, Cath hoped that what she had just told Dean was the truth. She couldn't live with any more lies…

…………….

Beverly bent over the smoking brazier. The taking of Dean's sight was just the beginning… The witch muttered darkly to herself, adding a pinch of a herb that gave off a foul smelling cloud of red smoke. She felt her eyes sting at the touch of the fumes, but carried on in the choking air. Her hand reached out and she took a pinch of a powder only she knew the contents of. As she tossed it into the brazier, the smoke billowed out, thicker and more poisonous than before. In the heart of the brazier, a violent red flame flared briefly. Beverly quickly pulled back from the vile smoke, letting it vanish up into the atmosphere. She smiled viciously, her mind filled with hate for the man who had dared to attack her. In the brazier she could see the interior of the motel room. She saw the sleeping form of precious Sam, _her_ Sam, the Sam that would bring her ultimate power. She saw that English bitch, one long leg hanging over the arm of the chair. She watched as Dean and Cath talked – she watched, through tear-blurred eyes as Cath embraced the frightened man and tried to reassure him so pathetically. Oh yes, she could see all of this. She had stolen Dean's sight and made it her own, using it to spy on her enemies. A pity she couldn't steal his hearing too, to hear the words that Cath whispered so tenderly to the man…

………..

Dean sat back suddenly, a puzzled look on his face.

"What's wrong, kiddo?" Cath was immediately on guard. The look in Dean's sightless eyes prickled the hairs on the back of her neck.

"OK, this is weird…"

"Dean?"

"I don't know how this is working, Cath, but, um, nah! This can't be right!" 

"For Christ's sake will you trust your bloody instincts, man! What isn't right?"

"I can see the inside of Beverly's room."

"Excuse me?"

"Seriously. She's bent over a brazier, adding all kinds of weird shit and muttering to herself."

Cath suddenly stood up and walked across the room. She picked up a coffee mug, held it out in front of her and deliberately dropped it. "What do you see now, Dean?"

Sam woke with a start at the sound of the mug smashing. "What the…"

Cath pressed a finger to her lips.

"Hang on, I can see her reflection in a mirror. She looks puzzled." Dean stared at the image in his mind. "She's just said something like, I dunno, it could be 'Why did she do that?' or something. Cath…"

Cath walked back to the chair and sat down. "Shit."

"Somebody wanna tell me why a mad Englishwoman is smashing crockery in our motel room?"

"I have no idea, Sam. You'll have to ask her."

"Dean, wait here. I need to talk to your brother, but I need to do it outside." She beckoned to Sam, who rose quickly. He glanced at his brother. He looked like a frightened child… Sam put a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"You OK, dude?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just…just don't leave me alone for too long, will ya? God knows what I'll smash or knock over!" Dean's lopsided grin was a mask. Sam knew that he really didn't want to be alone right now. Alone in his blindness. He squeezed his brother's shoulder gently.

"I promise Dean, we'll be right back. And we're just literally outside the door, OK, sweetie?" Cath's voice was soft. She'd seen through the mask too.

Sam followed the Englishwoman outside into the night. The air was heavy – as if a storm was about to break. "So? What's going on?" The look on the Englishwoman's face was serious. It was beginning to make Sam nervous.

"That bitch is better than I thought, Sam. She hasn't just taken Dean's sight out of spite, she's using him. To watch us. It's a particularly nasty sort of remote viewing spell. That's why I dropped the mug. To get a reaction out of her. If Dean saw her react, it would confirm what I suspected."

"I thought you didn't know much about this kinda stuff?"

"You don't hang around with someone like Marcus and not pick up the occasional nugget of information, Sam." Cath grinned at him. "However, it seems that our little witch miscalculated. The spell seems to have mirrored itself. She can see us, yes, but Dean can see her too. And I suspect that she hasn't realised that yet."

Sam frowned. "If she can see us, can she hear us?"

"Probably not, but I wouldn't be sure of anything with her."

"So how do we tell Dean?"

"We don't. But I know how we can stop her spying on us visually."

"How?"

"Blindfold."

"You're kidding, right?"

"No."

"So we just walk up to my blind brother, who is already through scared and out the other side, by the way, and slap a blindfold on him without telling him why?"

"You really think I'm that heartless? Christ, Sam, I thought we'd sorted this out!" A look of annoyance flashed across the woman's face. "I can be subtle, you know!"

"OK, Cath, I'm sorry. Guess I'm just a bit defensive about Dean at the moment."

"It's understandable, Sam, really it is. But we have to…" The scream from inside the motel room sent both of them hurtling through the door. Sam kicked the chair out of the way. On the bed, Dean writhed in agony, blood running from his nose and mouth.

"DEAN! Jesus! Cath, what the fuck is happening?" They tried to hold Dean still, but he thrashed wildly, crying out again and again in terrible pain…

……..

Beverly saw the two hunters walk out of the room. She knew that Dean was alone. Time to inflict a little more pain on her enemy… The brazier smoked, the thick, ochre smoke filling the room with a foul stench. She added one more pinch of black powder and smiled, breathing in the choking fumes as if they were the finest perfume. "Fire in the blood, Dean! Burning, agonising, fire in every vein, every cell, every fibre of your body! Writhe in agony, my little puppet, scream alone in your blind panic! No-one can help you now!" She hurled another pinch of the powder into the brazier and felt the rush of absolute power fill her. Power from the Source itself. Pure, unadulterated and utterly, utterly evil… She watched as Dean thrashed in agony on the bed, his pain filling her with pleasure. Had she not promised him a slow, terrible death? And this was merely the beginning of her torture. Oh, what she would do to him – he would be _begging_ for death at the end, weeping and snivelling, mewing like a baby…

"You seem to be having fun, Beverly."

She spun around, her hand ready to hurl the power that filled her at the intruder. How dare he! The man stood in the doorway, his long coat billowing out behind him. Beverly dropped her hand slowly and smiled. She bowed her head in homage to her master, her high priest…

"My lord. This is an unexpected pleasure. I was just having a little sport with one of our enemies!" She stood up slowly and moved towards him. His arm encircled her waist and he pulled her close, kissing her passionately on the lips. She could feel the power flooding from him, mingling with her own. She returned the kiss, her hand winding into the man's hair, her body pressed hard against his.

Finally, the man broke off the embrace, his hand stroking her soft blond hair. He smiled benignly at her. "So, my dear. What have you been up to?"

"Oh, causing the brother of the Chosen One to feel a pain he has never felt before. I took his sight and now I'm boiling his blood!" She laughed happily. The man nodded to himself, his hand still stroking her hair.

"Hmm. I see." Suddenly, he grabbed a handful of her hair and viciously pulled her head backwards. She gasped in pain and grabbed his arm, trying to break his grip, but he forced her slowly down onto her knees. "Trouble is, my little one, is that you don't seem to understand the game that's being played here. You seem to have your own private vendetta going with Dean. And I cannot allow that. I _will_ _not permit that_, Beverly." Beverly's long, perfectly manicured nails raked at her attacker's skin, but he didn't even flinch as the blood welled up along the welts. "You presume too much, my love. Far, far too much. I have my own plans for the two Magi, and it does not involve you. You have disappointed me. And you have defied me." The man's voice was soft, gentle and utterly cold.

"Please! I did it to protect you! I did it for _us_!"

The man laughed nastily. "There is no _us_, Beverly! You think I would be interested in a small- time hedgewitch like you?" His voice was full of contempt for the cowering woman at his feet. "I have a dozen more like you, child, you are totally expendable. And you have angered me." The light glinted on the curved blade. He crouched down in front of the terrified woman, his face inches from hers. She gazed deep into his eyes and saw Hell itself. Beckoning, waiting… "You've outlived your usefulness, Beverly. Time to die." He drew the knife agonisingly slowly across her throat, the razor-sharp edge cutting deep into her skin. The blood poured from the wound and her eyes widened in terror and pain. The man released the grip on her hair and stood up, the knife held loosely in his hand, blood staining the steel. Beverly slumped back, her hands clutching at her throat as she choked and gurgled. The blood seeped between her fingers and pooled around her as her vision began to blur. She could feel herself dying, just like Martha had…

The man walked nonchalantly over to the brazier and kicked it over, spilling the burning embers all over the priceless Chinese rug. The threads of the rug began to smoulder and a small flame burst into life. He turned to the dying witch, his eyes filled with pleasure at her death-throes. He felt the power pour from her. Power needs a vessel. Once the vessel is broken, it releases its contents. The man spread his arms wide and threw his head back, basking in the force that wrapped around his body and soul, enhancing and enriching his own. Beverly watched the man with her last seconds of life ebbing away from her and behind him she could see it – Hell. The impenetrable blackness, the overwhelming sense of evil – it washed over her and welcomed her as one of its own… Beverly felt her soul being ripped from her body and sucked into the abyss. She drew a last, rasping breath and died, the terror of her fate etched forever on her face.

The man dropped his arms to his sides and gazed at the corpse. He walked over to her still-warm body and bent down, trailing his fingers in the blood. His fingertips traced a pattern in the sticky liquid and suddenly the room was filled with a violent, rushing wind. He stood up, an island of calm in the middle of the maelstrom and watched as Beverly's body was disappeared into a void. Every last drop of blood, every symbol of the occult, even the smouldering brazier was drawn into the black, swirling pit. As suddenly as it had appeared, the maelstrom was gone. The room was completely bare. The man smiled to himself. "Like a cosmic vacuum cleaner!" He chuckled quietly at his own joke, pocketed the curved blade and walked out of the room. As he reached the doorway he turned one last time to check that all evidence of the terrible events had been destroyed. There must be no mistakes this time… Satisfied, he turned and walked quietly away…

Dean let out one final, soul-chilling cry of agony and slumped back on the bed. He was as still as a corpse. Blind panic filled Sam. "Dean! Oh, god please no! Dean!" Cath gently pressed two fingers on Dean's neck, searching for a pulse.

"He's alive, Sam. It's OK, love, he's alive!" She pulled his eyelids back and looked into his eyes. His pupils reacted instantly to the light and she released his lids back. Calmly, she checked his breathing. It was slow and steady, almost like he was sleeping peacefully.

Sam moved quickly towards the table and picked up the phone receiver.

"Who you calling, Sam?"

"A doctor. Dean needs a doctor."

"And what exactly are you gonna tell him? That he's been attacked by some voodoo bitch with a brazier? He's been enchanted? What?" Cath moved quickly and pressed her finger down on the phone. Sam heard the click as the line was disconnected. "He's breathing, he has a pulse and he's alive. Let's give it a few minutes before we dial 911, OK? I think Marcus may have just stopped Tinkerbell from working her mojo on your brother, Sam. Let's wait and find out, shall we?"

Sam opened his mouth to argue with the woman, but a soft moan from the bed stopped him dead. "Dean!" He ran back to his brother, who was slowly regaining consciousness. "Hey, Dean, it's OK, man, it's me, Sammy! Dean? Dean! Talk to me!"

"Jesus, Sam, give him a chance to get a word in edgeways, love!" The relief in Cath's voice was clear. Dean's eyes flickered open and he turned his head slowly towards his brother. Sam's face was full of concern.

"Hey, dude! It's me, Sam. I'm right here."

"I know. I can see you!"

Sam let out a huge sigh of relief and grinned broadly. "I think I'm gonna buy Marcus a beer or several! Man, you seriously had me worried there, Dean!" The smile faded from his face as he saw his brother's grim expression. "Dude, what is it?"

Dean slowly and painfully pulled himself up into a sitting position. He looked at his brother and at the Englishwoman. "I saw the high priest, Cath. Just before I blacked out. I saw him. He killed her. Cut her throat like he was butchering a pig, dude. I know who he is."

Cath stared at Dean, her expression completely blank. "Who is it, Dean? Who are we up against?"

"Cath, it's…"

The door of the motel room swung open and Marcus strode in. He grinned broadly. "Well? Did it work?"

Dean sat up and swung his legs around. He stood up slowly, supporting himself by holding onto the side table. He turned and faced the tall hunter, his eyes burning into Marcus's own. "Oh yes, Marcus, what you did worked alright…"

_**To be continued…**_


	13. The Power of Belief

The Power of Belief

When the Levees Break - A Supernatural Story – Chapter 13

An uneasy silence filled the room. Marcus grinned at Dean, his green eyes twinkling with mischief. "Dude, it is _damn _good to see you back on your feet!" He strided towards Dean and embraced him warmly. Dean looked over the man's shoulder at Cath and she indicated with her eyes that he should meet her outside. Make an excuse. Make any excuse. She knew something was very, very wrong…

"Sam, you wanna get us some fresh coffee, love?" Cath raised her eyebrows, hoping Sam would cotton on to the unspoken message. Sam nodded, picking up on the hidden meaning in the request instantly. 'Good lad' Cath thought to herself. Sam picked up the jug and walked out of the door.

Dean took a step back and ran his hand through his hair. "I…I gotta get some air, man. Good to see you too, Marcus." He walked slowly past the man, throwing a glance at Cath. His face was deadly serious. She nodded and stared at Marcus as he took his coat off, righted the overturned chair and sat down. He flipped out a packet of cigarettes and offered one to Cath. She shook her head.

"So. You did it."

Marcus grinned broadly. "What can I say? I'm just too damn good!" He laughed and lit the cigarette, blowing out a stream of blue smoke. The cocky expression that Cath had loved on the man for so long seemed out of place, seemed wrong…

"Listen love, Dean's been through a lot tonight. I'm just gonna check that he's OK."

"No problem, honey. I'll be right here!" There was that cocky smile again.

Cath turned and walked out into the heavy night air, softly closing the door behind her. Dean was leaning on the veranda, staring up into the night sky. The moon was almost full, showing the briefest glimpse of its brilliant blue light in between the rolling clouds that scuttled across its face. The storm was getting closer by the second. Far out to sea, a flash of lightning seared a path through the darkness. The air had a metallic tang, making the hairs on Dean's arms prickle and raise. He looked exhausted. Cath placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. He didn't turn or move a muscle.

"I thought I'd never see the moon again, Cath."

"I know."

"I've spoken to Sam. Told him not to say anything to Marcus about what happened."

"Why not, love?"

Dean turned and his gaze met hers. His eyes softened. He knew that this moment would define his relationship with Cath. She'd lost so much in the war, and now he was about to take away her last remaining island of hope. Destroy her trust. God, would it send her spinning back into the madness she had only just escaped from? There was no easy way to do this… "Because Cathy, the man I saw kill Beverly was Marcus." Cath snatched her hand away from Dean's shoulder and a look of fury flashed across her face.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry, babes. It was him."

"No!"

"Cath…"

"No, Dean, that's BOLLOCKS! He's one of us, for Christ's sake! He's a Magi!"

"Cathy, I'm sorry. Really I am. But I know what I saw."

Cath's eyes filled with tears. "I…I can't believe this!" She turned angrily away from Dean, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the handrail of the veranda. Dean gently wrapped his arms around her and turned her back to face him. She tried to pull away from his embrace but he held her tight.

"Listen Cathy. Listen to me! I know this isn't what you want to hear, but he is the one. I can prove it. On his left arm there'll be scratches – scratches Beverly made as she tried to stop him killing her. If you don't believe me, look at his arm!" He felt Cath's tense body go limp as a tear flowed down her cheek.

"He's all I had left, Dean. The only person I loved who was still alive. He's all I had!" Dean pulled the woman close, letting her rest her head on his shoulder, his arms wound protectively around her. He whispered in her ear.

"We can't let on that we know, Cathy. It's too dangerous. Too dangerous for Sammy. He's playing some kinda sick game with us and we have to see it out. What was it you said to me once? The best weapon a soldier can have is information? Well, we have that, sweetie. We let him play his game through to the end. Let him think we're still in the dark. Let him lead us to the whole coven."

"And then? Then what, Dean?"

Dean cupped Cath's face in his hands. "Then, Cathy, we stop them. Any way we can. Any way we _have_ to…"

………

Marcus idly swung his leg over the arm of the chair. It was a habit he'd picked up from Cath. He flicked the ash of the cigarette into the palm of his hand and rubbed it into the thigh of his jeans. His mind wandered back to his casual slaughter of Beverly. That had felt good! The rush of power had infused his own and made him feel as if he could rule the universe. And in a few hour's time… Oh, the joy of misdirection! Telling them they had a couple of days grace? He smiled quietly to himself, enjoying the moment. But something was niggling at his mind. Why had Dean been so reserved in his greeting? What had he meant by the comment about whatever he had done had worked? He would have to keep an eye on the warrior. His mind was as cunning and as sharp as Cathy's. But she was blinded by the foolish notion that Marcus actually loved her. In his own way, he did. The scrap of humanity that was still left in his soul desperately loved the woman, passionately and without reserve. But that last spark of humanity was being slowly extinguished by the utter blackness that filled him. He had chosen his side. He had made that choice of his own free will. Cathy had too, once, five years ago. But again, the Winchesters had intervened. Stopped her from turning completely. Marcus smiled again. This time, it would be different. This time, Cathy would have no escape. Nor would Dean…

The door opened and Sam walked in, holding a fresh jug of coffee. He smiled at Marcus and held the jug up. "Java, dude?"

Marcus nodded and grinned. He watched the Chosen One pour the black liquid into two clean mugs, his mind turning over. "So. Anything interesting happen while I was gone?"

"What, you mean apart from Dean going blind and lying on the bed, screaming in agony for several hours kinda interesting?" Sam's voice was sharp.

"Sorry, Sammy. I didn't mean to be flippant."

"It's _Sam_, Marcus." Sam spun around and faced the man, his eyes dark with anger.

"Whoa. Look I know everyone is on edge, but I'm the good guy here, Sam, OK?"

Sam caught himself just in time. Keep your feelings hidden, Dean had told him. Don't let on. Play the game… "Sorry Marcus. Guess we're all just a bit overtired and jumpy, you know?"

"Understandable, dude. But don't worry. Dean is back on fighting form, and you have me and Cathy to look after you!"

Sam prickled at that last comment. "We don't need babysitting, Marcus. We're big boys, all grown up and everything. Perhaps you should remember that."

"Perhaps, Sam, you should remember that we're all on the same side here, OK?"

"Are we?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The door swung open. "He didn't mean anything by it, Marcus." Dean walked slowly back into the room. It was clear by the way he moved that he was still hurting from the agony that Beverly had put him through. "Did you, Sammy?" Dean stared hard at his brother, the unspoken message clear.

"No. Sorry. Just, like I said. A bit jumpy."

Marcus laughed. "Perhaps we should all ease up on the coffee and start doing what Cathy does and try drinking tea for a change!" He grinned broadly at the woman as she closed the door quietly behind her.

"You know that ain't gonna happen. You always said it tastes like cat's piss." There was no trace of humour in Cath's voice. The joke was just covering up her inner turmoil at discovering that the man she loved was possibly her enemy. She glanced at Marcus, not wanting to make eye contact for any longer than was necessary. "One hell of a storm comin' in."

"Always the way when serious shit goes down, babes. When has it ever been bright and sunny when we've been dealing with something like this?" Marcus laughed and stood up. "Right then. Now I know Dean is OK, I have a lead I'm gonna chase up. Perhaps you guys should get some more rest. We got 48 hours to go before the big one. You're all gonna need your strength." He stretched lazily, his arms raised above his head. Cath glanced at his left arm. Four angry red lines ran across the skin of his forearm.

Cath's world imploded.

"What did you do to your arm, babes?"

Marcus glanced at the marks and quickly dropped his arms to his side. He grinned at Cath. "Bloody barbed wire. Caught me a beauty!" He kissed her gently, caressing her cheek. His touch was cold. Cath forced herself not to flinch away from him. "I'll be back soon, babes. Take care of the boys for me!" He laughed one more time and was gone.

Cath stood statue still. Dean glanced at Sam, unsure as to what to say or do. Slowly, Cath turned her gaze on the two men. The piercing green eyes had darkened. They were almost black. Dean felt a sense of déjà vu – it was New York all over again…

"No matter what happens, no matter what we face in two days time, Marcus is mine. You understand?"

"Cathy…"

"_You UNDERSTAND, Dean?_" Her voice was filled with fury, betrayal and desperate sadness. The storm that had been waiting in the wings chose that moment to make its presence known. The crack of thunder made Dean and Sam jump. Cath grabbed her jacket and was gone, vanishing into the storm…

………..

Sam sat on the bed. "I feel like a bit player in this, Dean."

"Dude, I know. But I think things are about to get real interesting. And don't underestimate yourself, little bro. You're about the only one who has his head straight at the moment. Cath is in a _real_ bad place, Marcus is our enemy and I feel like I've been hit by a semi. _Again_." He grinned at his brother.

"Don't make jokes like that, Dean, OK?"

"Well how the hell do you expect me to cope with this shit _without_ making some kind of a joke, Sammy? Seriously? I feel like I'm cracking up here, OK? This is one hell of a big fuck-up we've walked into here, and I don't have the first clue as to how to beat it! Honestly? My instinct tells me to load everything up in the Impala, sit you in the passenger seat and drive us the fuck away from here as fast as possible. So if you have any better ideas, little bro, I'd _love_ to hear them!" Dean's head sagged onto his chest.

"Maybe you're right."

Dean's head snapped back up. "What?"

"Maybe you're right, Dean. Maybe this isn't our fight. Maybe it's Cath's and Marcus's own personal battle."

"Are you _serious_?"

"You said it yourself. If I'm supposed to be all-important to this whole shebang going on, then if I'm not here, it can't happen, right? Look, I don't think Marcus has been honest with us about the timing of this. I checked on the computer. The full moon is _tonight _Dean. We have a few hours at best. If we go now, they can't complete whatever shit spell it is they're working on. Then it's just down to Cath to take Marcus down. And judging by the mood she's in at the moment, my money is on her all the way."

"You have got to be kidding me, Sammy! You seriously expect me to walk away from all this? Christ, dude, I wasn't _serious_!"

"Well I am. Dean, this _isn't _our fight! We're not the only hunters in the world, man, there's a woman out there who if she put her mind to it could probably kick both our arses and then some! We know who the enemy is, we _know _it's Marcus. But he's human, Dean. I… I don't know if I could…"

"What? You don't know if you could what? You don't know if you could kill him just because he's flesh and blood, Sam? He's goddamn EVIL! He's talking about raising an army and destroying the world! This is _it_ Sam, this is the big one! And you think, for one second, that Marcus is acting alone? And you think I'm gonna let Cathy go out there, feeling the way she does now, and take on a whole damn _coven_ as well as Christ knows what else? You think I'm gonna just _run away_ with my goddamn tail between my legs?!" Dean stood up suddenly and grabbed his jacked. "Stay here."

"I…"

"STAY HERE!"

The door slammed as Dean stormed out of the motel room, dark fury in his eyes. Sam stared after his brother, confused as hell…

…….

Dean brought the Impala to a shuddering halt next to the big Land Rover. Yep, this was the right place then… He climbed out of the truck and slammed the door shut. He turned his attention away from the Land Rover to the building it was parked beside. Eddy's Gym. He shrugged and wandered inside.

The reception guy was leaning on the front desk, an ice-pack pressed over his left eye. He looked pissed. Seriously pissed. Dean smiled brightly at the man and he glared back at him. Dean's grin was fixed – he had a sneaking suspicion that the fresh black eye was the work of someone close to him…

"Hi, um, black-eye guy. I'm looking for a woman. English? Long red hair in a plait? Probably gave you that?" He pointed at his black eye. The man straightened up slowly, still glaring at Dean.

"She's in there, beating the crap outta a punchbag."

"Looks like she got some practice in on you first, dude!" Dean laughed.

"Fuck off."

"Oooo, friendly!"

"Like I give a rat's arse! Listen buster, you go talk to her if you want to, but I warn you. She's working through some _serious_ issues at the moment. I'd advise you to pad up and at least wear a gumshield before talking to her."

"Won't that, like, make talking to her a tad difficult, dude?"

"Again, like I care!" He poked a thumb towards the gym doors and went back to nursing his black eye.

"Thanks. Oh, by the way, just out of interest? Why did she hit you?"

The man glanced up. "Not really a very touchy-feely kinda person, is she?"

"You grabbed her ass, didn't you?"

"You'd think I'd tried to molest her, the way she went at me! Jesus, all I did was pat her arse all friendly like and next thing I know? Bam! Out cold on the floor. Bitch!"

Dean glared at the man. "Just to let you know? That _bitch_ is a friend of mine, so unless you want a matching pair, dude, I'd watch what you call her around me, OK?"

"Whatever." The man shrugged. He was huge. Typical of Cath. Always go for the biggest son of a bitch. Put them down, and anyone else with them won't bother you. Cath never bothered with the mouthy, little ones. She always went for the big bastards. Human or otherwise…

He laughed again and sauntered past the gorilla on the desk. As he swung the door open, the smell of sweat hit him and he wrinkled his nose. The gym was busy with macho men all preening and pumping, glancing admiringly at themselves in the mirrors that surrounded the room. On the treadmills, several skinny girls in skin-tight lycra huffed and puffed, making a big deal of shaking their arses and sticking their tits out. They looked like they were running for the bargains in a lingerie sale. Dean spent a couple of minutes watching the blonde one, nodded admiringly and turned his attention back to the job in hand. He couldn't see her anywhere…

Then, in the far corner of the gym, something caught his eye. There was one part of the gym that was completely empty apart from one person. The punch-bag was taking one hell of a beating. The figure was dressed in a sleeveless black tee-shirt and loose running trousers. Her feet and hands were bound up with tight bandages and the long red hair was pulled back into a severe plait. The sweat on her muscles gleamed in the light. The moves were precise, fast and devastatingly powerful. The punch-bag swung drunkenly as a flurry of punches nearly pulled it from its chain.

Cath.

In a really, _really_ bad mood.

Dean approached with caution. There wasn't an ounce of fat on the woman. Her arms and shoulders were the match of any of the steroid-filled idiots in the gym. He winced as Cath brought a roundhouse kick thundering into the punch-bag and stopped in her tracks. Cath leaned with both hands on the bag, stopping it swinging on its chain. The sweat ran down her body – the tee-shirt was soaked. The bloke on the reception desk had been right. Was she _ever _working through some issues… Cath leaned her brow against the bag, breathing heavily. Dean picked up a water bottle that was sitting by the wall and held it out to her. Cath looked at the bottle, trying to work out whose hand was holding it and whether the punch-bag should be replaced by something with a pulse.

"You know, it's really not advisable to interrupt me in the middle of a…" She looked up and her eyes locked with Dean's. Dean smiled gently at her and offered her the water bottle. Cath took it and drained it in one go. Their gazes locked again.

"Hi babes."

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Well, that's nice, isn't it? That's the greeting I get?" Dean smiled at her again. He could see the hurt in her eyes. The punch-bag session just hadn't cut it…

"You should be looking after your brother, Dean."

"He's a big boy. He can look after himself."

Cath spun around angrily and instinctively Dean took a step back. "You have no idea, do you, sweetie? No goddamn idea!"

"Then _give _me an idea, Cathy! What do we do? Do I take my brother and get the hell outta Dodge? What? Do I stay here? Because I just found out, babes, that son of a bitch lied to us. We got a few hours at best. So ya know? I really need some guidance on this one! C'mon, Cathy, throw me a freakin' bone here, lady!"

Cath power-drove a punch into the centre of the bag and glared at Dean. "The game-pan has changed, Dean. Take your brother, load up and get out. I'll finish things here."

"Is that really what you want?"

"No, Dean, it _isn't_ what I want! What I wanted was for Marcus NOT to be the one thing we were hunting, Dean! What I _wanted _was for this to be a straight-forward hunt/kill job that _didn't _involve me having to kill the one person in my life I had left who I loved, _Dean_! You getting' this, kiddo? _You getting' this?_" Cath shook with fury and despair. Dean wrapped his arms around her and held her tight.

"I'm not leaving you, you got that? I'm not leaving you to fight this alone. I've never walked away from a job yet and I ain't about to start now!" He held her close, stroking her hair. "We see this through _together_, Cathy. End of."

"Dean, I…" The massive explosion of sound drowned out any possibility of thought or speech. The storm had hit land… Every light in the gym went out and the room was plunged into darkness. In the background, the treadmill girls screamed…

"Shit!" Dean and Cath broke their embrace and Dean flicked his torch on.

"My gear is in the locker room. You got a spare torch?" Dean reached inside a pocket and tossed Cath a mini-Mag light. "Thanks. Wait here, I'll be one minute…" Cath sprinted off and true to her word was back almost instantly.

The two hunters sprinted from the gym and out into the screaming wind. It nearly knocked them off their feet. "Sammy! I have to get back to the motel!"

"GO! I'll follow you. GO!"

The Impala and the Land Rover spun out of the car-park, the tyres spitting up dust and debris into the roaring tempest that had crashed into New Orleans. As she drove, Cath could feel the fear and terror building up in the city. Not again, please god, not again… People were desperately running for cover. There had been no warning, no chance to prepare for this. It was Katrina all over again… The heavens opened and the torrent that fell from the sky was too intense to be classed as rain. It was biblical in its proportions. The wind screamed like a wounded animal, howling and roaring through the streets. The storm wasn't natural. It _couldn't_ be natural, not with a ferocity like this…

On the hilltop above the city, the coven called the wind, embraced it, welcomed it…

…..

Sam jumped as the crack of thunder burst literally overhead. Lightning forked across the sky, splitting it again and again with jagged fingers of brilliant white light. The lights in the room went out as the power failed across the city. Great. Just great… The door of the motel room burst open as if blown off its hinges by high explosive and in the doorway, Marcus stood, motionless. His long coat billowed out behind him like a pair of wings – like an avenging angel…

"Hi Sammy." He smiled. It chilled Sam's blood. "So. You found out then. I'm curious. How?" He stalked slowly towards Sam.

"I don't know what you mean, Marcus. And it's _Sam_!"

"Oh, please! Don't lie to me. You knew. Anyway, no matter now. Fancy meeting a friend of mine, Sammy?" He chuckled. "Because he's _dying_ to meet you!" Before Sam could move, Marcus's hand shot out, the fingers splayed wide and Sam found himself hurtling through the air backwards. He slammed into the wall and slumped slowly down, groaning in pain. He couldn't move… Marcus crouched down in front of him, his hand resting on his thigh, the tails of his coat looking more and more like leathery wings every second. He smiled darkly. "Time to go, Sammy…" Sam lost consciousness…

**_To be continued…_**


	14. The Eye of the Storm

The Eye of the Storm

When the Levees Break – A Supernatural Story – Chapter 14

The wind screamed through New Orleans, destroying everything in its path. It smashed into the fragile wooden buildings, tearing them apart as if they were made of paper. It hurled debris into the air, turning the smallest fragment of wood into a lethal weapon. The storm was all tooled up and ready to party…

Dean punched the steering wheel, willing the Impala to go faster, faster… A sensation of dread filled him. He knew he was in a desperate race; a race to save his brother's life… He swore as a sheet of corrugated iron slammed into the side of the car. "Son of a BITCH!" That was a new paint job, for sure. The big Land Rover in front of him swerved violently to the left and almost too late he saw why. The gasoline tanker was lying on its side across the freeway and the stench of gas filled the air. "_shit__!"_ Dean spun the steering wheel violently to the left, aiming for the back of the truck, staying in the wheel-tracks of the Land Rover. Jesus, could the woman ever drive! The Land Rover showed its true colours and made short work of the debris that littered the road. Dean winced as he heard the chassis of the Impala scream in protest as it made contact with yet another piece of jagged iron. Dean prayed silently to the god of classic cars that his baby would emerge unscathed… A single spark from the cascade that poured from the contact of metal against metal landed in a pool of gas. The bloom of fire filled Dean's rear view mirror and his foot automatically stamped hard down on the gas peddle. He had to put some distance between him and that truck before it…

The first explosion lifted the Impala off the road and hurled it towards the back of the Land Rover. Dean couldn't do anything to stop it. Time seemed to slow down as the inevitability of the impact drew nearer and nearer… Suddenly the Land Rover veered violently, spinning a full one eighty turn, letting the hood of the Impala sail past it, missing it by centimetres. Cath had glanced in her rear view mirror, seen what was happening and had reacted just in time to avoid the big muscle car from ploughing into the back of her beloved Land Rover. She hauled on the handbrake and spun the wheel, bringing the big car to a shuddering halt alongside the Impala. She looked across at Dean, who was staring out of the window at her, visibly shaken.

"You OK?"

Dean nodded, mentally checking himself – two legs, two arms, one body, one head, yep, still in one piece. He grinned at Cath. "Shit, that was close!"

"And getting closer!" Cath yelled to him above the roar of the repeating explosions; the gasoline tanker was still intact but the flames were racing towards their inevitable conclusion…

"DRIVE! NOW! _MOVE_!" Cath slammed her foot on the gas pedal and the big car wheel-span away from the impending final, cataclysmic explosion. Dean didn't need to be told twice, they were still way too close to the truck – they had brief seconds before it blew…

…..

Mamma Deveau woke to a frenzy of activity in the hospital. Nurses were moving with an urgency that spoke volumes. She glanced up at the TV that flickered in the corner of the room. The weatherman had a look of sheer panic on his face. This was bigger than Katrina, he was saying. Get to high ground. Get out of town, _NOW._ Hurricane Dean had slammed into New Orleans with the full fury of Hell itself behind it. They had been caught completely unaware. None of the weather stations had picked up the hurricane until it was too late – until it had unleashed its deadly force on the city that still bared the scars of Katrina. The damn thing had appeared out of nowhere, no indication of a storm brewing out in the Atlantic, no warning signs, nothing. It wasn't natural… Mamma Deveau glanced around her. She could hear the whisper of frantic prayers from the other patients – patients who were all too sick to be moved. They were sitting ducks. Slowly and painfully, Mamma Deveau swung her legs onto the edge of the bed, her bare feet making contact with the cold floor. She winced in pain as the stitches in her stomach pulled at the skin. She pulled the drip from her arm and a bead of blood stained her dark skin. She rubbed at it absentmindedly, ignoring the bee-sting sensation. Slowly, she got to her feet, holding onto the edge of the bed for support. A nurse scurried by her, her pretty face filled with concern. She glanced at Mamma Deveau. "What are you doing out of bed, Mrs Deveau? Come on now…" She laid a gentle hand on the woman's arm and tried to guide her back into bed.

"Girl, take your damn hand off me! I'm perfectly OK. You need to get these people to safety and I can help."

"Mrs Deveau, we're doing everything we can. But I need you to stay here, to stay in bed, until someone comes to get you, OK? Please?" The note of desperation in the young woman's voice was tangible. She was frightened. So young, so scared… Mamma Deveau smiled gently at the girl.

"You go look to people who _need _help, chile. I'll try to keep some of these poor souls calm, OK? Go on. Git!" She shooed the young nurse away. Suddenly, the ward was plunged into darkness. Screams of panic filled the hallway and the frantic bleeping of life support machines snapped the nurse's attention away from Mamma Deveau. She threw one last, panic-filled glance at Mamma Deveau and sprinted away down the hall. Mamma Deveau looked down the hallway. The dim emergency lighting gave the hallway a blood-red tinge, but in the gloom Mamma Deveau could see movement. She peered into the gloom and her blood ran cold. "Oh God in Heaven, please, NO!"

The throng of ghostly figures moved agonisingly slowly through the hallway, their blank eyes framed by weeds and mud, their clothes filthy and soaking. The souls of the dead from Katrina had come to claim the souls of the dying from Hurricane Dean and its apocalyptic fury…

…….

Michael's eyes snapped open as the bedroom window shattered, spraying his duvet with shards of glass. He screamed in terror, his cry ripped from his lips as the furious wind roared into his bedroom. Alex sprinted into the room, gathering Michael up into his arms. "We have to go, Michael, now. I'm gonna keep you safe, OK? I'm gonna keep you safe…" Alex turned and ran back down the stairs, the terrified child weeping in his arms. He snatched the keys to his pick-up truck from the hallway table and threw the front door open. The blast of wind nearly knocked him from his feet and he leaned into the teeth of the storm. It took all of his strength to struggle the few steps to the truck. Hauling at the handle of the door, he finally managed to bundle his son into the passenger seat. The boy sat bolt upright, his eyes wide with fear.

Then the rain came.

Alex cried out in pain as the huge drops of water lashed at his skin like a thousand angry bees. He shielded his eyes against the torrent and, feeling his way around the front of the hood, his fingers finally curled around the door handle of the driver's side. He wrestled with the door, almost crying in frustration as the gale slammed the door closed on him time and again. The door caught the wind and swung open, almost pulling Alex off his feet. He threw himself into the driver's seat and used all his strength to drag the door closed. In the warm, cocoon-like cab of the truck, he breathed a sigh of relief and glanced at his son. "You alright, son? Michael?" His right hand fumbled as he pushed the key into the ignition, his gaze still fixed on his son. The child was staring out of the windscreen, his blue eyes filled with tears

"Mommy!"

Alex looked puzzled at the boy, but then his gaze followed his son and he gasped. "Mary! My god, NO!"

In front of the car, his dead wife stood. Her eyes were blank but the penetrating stare was chilling. Her bedraggled night-dress clung to her soaking skin, the weeds and mud forming a halo around her face. Slowly, she reached out a hand towards the truck, pleading, begging… Behind her stood a crowd of souls, their images flickering in and out of sight, like a badly threaded film. They were all in the same horrifying state as Mary – their clothes torn and ragged, their faces covered in the Levee mud. Alex could hear their whispers carried on the screaming wind, "_Help us! Please! Help us! Why won't you help us?" _Michael turned to his father, absolute terror etched into his face.

"DADDY!"

His cry snapped Alex back into the here and now, and he turned the key of the truck, determined to get his son as far away from these creatures as possible. The engine spluttered and choked. "Nonono, c'mon, c'MON! START! PLEASE GOD, START!" Alex twisted frantically at the key again, and the V8 roared into life. He slammed the car into drive, wrenched the handbrake off and gripped the steering wheel, the engine gunning. He swallowed hard, staring hard into the blank eyes of his dead wife. Desperation and horror filled him. The two hunters had been right all along. God how he wished he'd listened to them! The woman had told him to get his son away from New Orleans, but in his wildest nightmares he had never expected that _this _was the reason… He rammed his foot onto the gas pedal and the truck leapt forward, gathering speed, straight at the ghost of his beloved Mary…

…….

The big Land Rover roared as Cath punched her way through the gears, trying desperately to get herself and Dean clear of the tanker before it blew them both to Hell. The Impala was inches behind her – Dean was good. He was _very_ good. The man was keeping station with her, turn for turn, gear for gear. Suddenly, she felt the car shudder as the tanker blew behind them. The scream of metal torn and twisted into molten shards sent a shiver down her back. She flinched involuntarily, expecting to feel the impact of boiling steel on the back of her neck any second. It never came. They'd just made it. Behind her, the night sky erupted into a volcanic explosion of fire, the flames shooting high into the air. White hot metal rained down around them, hissing and spitting in the torrent of water that fell from the sky. You couldn't call this rain. It was a real fire and brimstone situation, straight out of the Old Testament… She glanced in the mirror to make sure that the Impala hadn't been caught in the explosion. No. Dean was still there, a look of grim determination in his eyes. Through the mirror, their gazes locked. She nodded briefly and slammed the car into a higher gear, hearing the turbo charger whine into action. They had to get back to Sam, and then? Her mind wouldn't let her think about that. She had to concentrate on driving, concentrate on staying alive long enough to get the brothers back together. After that…

Dean saw the woman glance at him in her mirror. Her green eyes were piercing, full of cold, hard professionalism. God alone knew what was running through her mind right now. All Dean could think of was his brother. He shouldn't have left him alone like that – he shouldn't have left him alone… He saw the Land Rover leap forward as the turbo charger kicked in on the big V8 car. He grinned. "Cath, baby, when this is over, you are gonna _have_ to let me have a look under that hood! God-DAMN that thing moves!" He pushed the gas pedal as far as it would go and felt his own V8 respond. The road was strewn with debris – cars had slammed into each other, the occupants nowhere to be seen. It was as if he and Cath were the only ones left alive in the whole damn city…

Cath spun the Land Rover into the car-park of the motel and slued to a stop, the Impala screeching to a halt beside her. Before the engine had died, she had thrown the door open and hit the ground running, he automatic pistol appearing in her hand as if by magic. Dean was one step behind her, his own gun cocked and ready. Cath hit the door full tilt and kicked it off its hinges. The two hunters skidded to a stop, their gun barrels sniffing the air like cobras.

Dean's heart turned to ice.

The room was empty. The smashed chair and overturned bedside table told him the whole story. Marcus had beaten them to it…

…………….

Sam slowly opened his eyes. He tried to focus, but his vision kept blurring. A strange metallic taste filled his mouth. He groaned and tried to move, feeling the ropes biting into his wrists. An old, musty smell flooded his nostrils, like the inside of a crypt…

"Well, looky! Someone has decided to wake up! Hello, Sammy. How ya feeling?" Marcus crouched down in front of the bound man, a cocky smile on his face. "Perhaps you'd like a drink, yeah?" Marcus grabbed Sam's jaw and forced his mouth open. He tipped up a goblet and poured the contents into Sam's mouth, forcing his mouth closed. Sam choked and gagged as the vile tasting liquid slid down his throat. Marcus released his vice-like grip and sat back on his haunches, staring intently at the man. "Yeah, I know it tastes nasty, but, it's like any medicine, Sammy. The better it is for you, the worse it tastes!" He laughed merrily and stood up, the empty goblet hanging loosely from his hand. Sam stared at it, the symbols that covered the black surface squirming and writhing in front of him. The same symbols he had seen in the painting… Marcus glanced down at the goblet. "Oh, you noticed that, did you?" He held the goblet up in front of him, studying it. "Pretty, isn't it? One of Beverly's family heir-looms I, um, _liberated _from her." He shrugged. "Well, it's not as if she'll be using it again any time soon, is it?" He laughed again and tossed the goblet over his shoulder, ignoring the shattering of a priceless occult antique.

"You sick son of a bitch, what the hell have you just poisoned me with?" Sam could feel the liquid burning in his stomach.

"I haven't _poisoned_ you with _anything_, Sammy! Good grief, do you honestly think I would kill my most precious possession?" He walked over to a stone slab and jumped up, sitting on the sarcophagus lid, his legs swinging idly. He flipped open a packet and pulled a cigarette out with his teeth. The clink of the Zippo echoed through the chamber and the flare of the flame illuminated the stone walls. A mausoleum. Marcus pulled the cigarette from his lips, blowing a stream of blue smoke into the air. He stared intently at Sam. Outside, Sam could hear the scream of the hurricane as it roared around the building. Marcus smiled. "Don't worry, Sammy. We're perfectly safe in here." He glanced around the mausoleum. "It's a pity they couldn't build their houses as well as they built their crypts, don't you think?" He grinned and took another pull on the cigarette. Sam glared at the man. "Oh, now, Sammy! Don't be mad at me!" Marcus smiled benignly. "You'll thank me later, really you will." He sucked happily at the cigarette, that cocky smile always there, always mocking…

Sam suddenly convulsed in pain, his eyes tight shut. Every muscle in his body cried out in agony as the liquid Marcus had forced into him started to take effect. He retched violently, his body going into spasms and he slumped sideways, oblivious of anything except the waves of blinding pain that crashed into him. He cried out, trying desperately to fight the crippling spasms. Marcus watched passively as his charge writhed on the floor. "Don't worry, son, it'll soon pass. Just one of the ingredients in the mix is a bit, um, _toxic, _tends to react rather badly. You'll be fine in a bit."

Gradually the pain subsided and Sam struggled for breath, his breathing laboured and rasping. He lay motionless on the floor, too weak to even pull himself up into a sitting position. His head swam and blinding flashes of light burst beneath his eyelids, blinding him. Marcus's voice seemed to echo in his head. "I guess we've got about another hour before everything is in place, so it's a good opportunity to really get to _know _each other, what do you think?" He jumped down and sauntered over to a window in the mausoleum. He glanced out and whistled softly. "Coo, bit of a storm brewing out there, Sammy!" He glanced back at Sam and grinned. "The girls have done good, don't you think? Nobody can call up a storm like they can! I mean, Katrina was impressive, but _this_? Awesome!"

Sam forced his eyes open and his gaze locked with Marcus's. The merry green eyes had been replaced with eyes that were as black as the pits of Hell. He couldn't tear his gaze away from those eyes. Sheer evil radiated from them – an evil that was beyond anything he had ever encountered. Even that yellow-eyed son of a bitch was no match for this…

Marcus stalked towards him and crouched down in front of Sam, the black eyes penetrating deep into his very soul. "Not long now, Sammy." This time, there was no smile. No cocky grin. Just pure, utter evil…

……

Dean stood, stunned. Cath pushed the automatic pistol into her jeans and turned to him. "Christ, Dean, I'm sorry. I really am…"

"Where has he taken Sam?"

"I don't know."

"NOT FUCKING GOOD ENOUGH!" Dean grabbed Cath roughly by the arm. "Where, Cathy? _WHERE_?"

Cath twisted her arm loose of Dean's grip and looked around the room. "I DON'T KNOW! OK, OK. This isn't getting us anywhere. Think. Marcus is using heavy duty High Magick here. Is there anywhere in New Orleans that fits the bill?" She stared at Dean. "Dean? C'mon, old son, help me out here…"

Dean tried to focus. Screaming at Cathy wouldn't help. He scanned the room, his eyes resting on the laptop. He walked over and pressed the pad, lighting up the screen. The page was still on the website for the coven. He stared at the screen, willing it to give up its secrets… "Of course! Where do we keep ending up, Cath? Where is the one place where all this comes together?"

Cath stared at Dean, her mind working quickly. "Beverly Crane's house."

"When Sam and I scouted the place out, there was this huge old mausoleum in the garden, just back from the house. Spooky doesn't even begin to describe it, we're talking full-on Scooby-Doo time here, Cath."

"Dean, it's as good a place as any to start, love." She grabbed her duster coat from the back of the chair and turned to him. "Just tell me that son of a bitch didn't take the Colt."

"He didn't even know we had it, Cath." Dean pulled out a hold-all from under the bed and ripped the zipper open. He reached inside and pulled out the ancient gun, its blue-black barrel glinting in the light. Dean flipped the gun open and spun the barrel, checking the chambers. Every one had a bullet nestling snugly in place. He flipped the barrel back, the click of the locking mechanism sickeningly loud. He smiled darkly at Cath and held the gun up. "Locked and loaded, baby!"

"Then let's go find your little brother, shall we?"

Dean nodded and grabbed the hold-all. He threw their possessions into the bag – he had a feeling they wouldn't be coming back. He turned and looked at Cath. "You know that when we find Marcus…"

"I told you, Dean. Marcus is mine. You understand?"

Dean saw the flash of darkness cloud her eyes. He nodded, but silently he knew that this was his battle now as much as hers. First come, first served…

The two hunters walked out of the motel room for the last time and into the screaming storm, the wind snapping Cath's long coat out behind her.

Time to go to work…

**_To be continued..._**


	15. End Game Part One

End Game Part One

When the Levees Break - A Supernatural Story Chapter 15

Sam lay, staring at Marcus. The tall man had hopped back up onto the sarcophagus lid and was smoking another cigarette. A twisted smile warped his face every time he glanced at Sam. "You OK there, kiddo?" Marcus grinned merrily. "Because, ya know, if there's anything you need…"

"How about a gun?" Sam glared at the man. The way he felt at the moment, he wouldn't have the strength to even lift a gun, let alone fire one.

Marcus laughed heartily. "Dude, you got spirit, I'll give you that! You must be pretty mad at me at the moment, yeah?" He took another drag on the cigarette. "Well, stick around, Sammy, in about forty minutes you're gonna be kissing my feet with thanks for this!"

"Just tell me. What the hell are you doing?"

"You not figured it out yet? And you being an honour student and all, credited you with more intelligence than that, Sammy boy!" Marcus jumped down, landing as lightly as a cat. "It's all about power, Sammy. All about power." He idly scratched his chin, his fingers rasping on the stubble. "Ya see, I've been working on this little number for years, ever since I found this." He pulled a battered old book out from an inside pocket and waved it in the air. "Been my constant companion all these years. Took me five years just to understand it, to translate it." He held the book up for Sam to see. A blood red cover, aged beyond reckoning, held crackling pages together. "I mean, that's one thing you of all people should realise, my boy. Knowledge is power. Power is knowledge. And once you understand just how much power there can be in the right words, the right timing, the right _intent_, then you can do anything." He smiled nastily. "Coo, do ya think this is the bit where I tell you of my evil plan and all?" He laughed. There was a touch of hysteria in the laugh. Whatever power he had tapped into, it had sent Marcus over the edge of sanity and into the abyss of black madness. "Okie dokie then, I'll indulge you."

"You know that Dean and Cath will be on their way? They'll stop you…"

"Oh, Sammy, I'm _counting _on it!" He laughed again. "Ya see, they're as much a part of this as you are. I mean, what's a master to do without some slaves? They'll make good generals, the pair of them. Seein' as they already think like a couple of robotic soldiers, that is. But you? Ah, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy! How very special you are! You see, you're gonna be the _vessel_, the Chosen One, the Head Honcho, le grande fromage!" Marcus bent down in front of Sam and stroked his cheek gently. "You, my boy are gonna be the means to an end! You and you alone will walk this earth with the power of the elements within you! You will be the Storm-bringer! And _I,_ my boy, will be the puppet master who controls you!" The black eyes burned with evil. Marcus stood up quickly. "It's been quite amusing, watching the oh so clever Cath Miller bark up _totally_ the wrong tree! She thought I was raising a demon, didn't she? Well, my boy, there are things in this universe older and more powerful than mere demons. They're called Elementals." His eyes shined with madness. "Raw, unadulterated _power, _Sammy. Pure. Demons are old, yes, but Elementals? They go back to the very beginning, Sam. The _very beginning_. They're what make up the fibre of everything."

"You're crazy! You honestly think you can control an Elemental?"

Marcus's smile vanished. "Crazy?" He wandered towards Sam, his normally jocular face dark with anger. "_Crazy_?" He bent down and a fist lashed out, faster than Sam could see. He felt the fist connect with his jaw and his head snapped back. Blood filled his mouth and his vision blurred. The force of the punch would have knocked most men out cold. But the potion that Marcus had forced down Sam's throat earlier had started to take effect… Sam spat the blood out of his mouth and stared at the face inches from his. Their eyes locked and Sam could see the hopelessness of trying to reason with Marcus. He was too far gone. There was nothing left of the man. Just a shell containing utter madness. Marcus smiled slowly. "Ya know Sam, there's always been this big misunderstanding by the majority of the population of the distinction between madness and genius. Tell me. Tell me honestly. Which do you think I am?" Marcus raised an eyebrow quizzically. He stood up suddenly. "Oh, and for your information, I don't intend to _control _an Elemental. Jesus, Sam, I'm not _that _stupid!" There was that manic laugh again. "No, sweet child, _you're_ gonna be doin' the controlling. I told you. I'm just gonna be pulling the strings."

"But why? Why are you doing this?"

Marcus threw his arms out wide and grinned broadly. "Power! Why else? It won't just give me dominion over this realm, it'll give me control of ALL realms, demonic, human, you name it! Nothing will be able to stop me! NOTHING! No demon, no mortal, nobody!" He practically danced over to the window, like a child filled with Christmas glee. He stared out into the raging tempest outside. "C'mon, Cathy baby, where are you? Don't want you bein' late to the party now, do we?" He winked conspiratorially at Sam. "Oh, and your brother, obviously. Ya know, I like Dean. I'll like him even more when he finally knows to _do what he's freakin' told _for once!"

Sam laughed quietly.

"What? What's so funny, college-boy?"

"I think you're underestimating my brother, Marcus. _Seriously _underestimating him!" Sam laughed again. He hoped to God that his trust in his older brother wasn't misplaced this time…

……………

Cath Miller slued the Land Rover to a stop at the end of the driveway. The screaming wind tore at the wooden building, ripping slates from the roof and hurling the missiles through the air. Any one of them would kill anything it hit. The passenger door was wrestled open and Dean jumped quickly into the car, slamming the door closed against the raging storm outside. The big Land Rover weighed over two tons, but in this raging tempest, even the size of the car didn't stop it from swaying violently every time a blast of the storm hit it. "Jesus Cath, if this is global warming, you can keep it! That storm ain't natural!" Dean ran his hand through his hair and across his face, trying to wipe some of the stinging rain from his skin.

"You're right, Dean, this isn't a natural storm. This has been called up." 

"The Coven?"

Cath nodded. "I've done a bit of checking and I think I know where they're operating from. There's a hill above the city to the north. My guess is they're up there now, calling this Maelstrom up. I've sent a team up there. Give it a few minutes, and we should have a little less to cope with." 

"Cath, that's the best weather report I've heard in days!" Dean grinned at the Englishwoman. "And when this is all over?" He wagged an accusing finger at her. "You and I are gonna sit down over a bottle of tequila and you're gonna tell me exactly who the HELL you are, OK? _OK_?"

Cath smiled. "OK Dean. If we both get out of this alive, you got a deal. I'll tell you everything."

Dean lost the grin. His face was suddenly serious. "What do you mean, if we both get out alive? That's a given, Cathy. I ain't gonna let anything happen to you _or _Sammy, got it?" He touched her cheek gently. "I've never met anyone like you, hun, and I'd, well, I'd kinda like to get to know you better, ya know? Seeing as how we have so much in common and all."

Cath laughed. "Bloody hell, Dean, are you making a pass at me?"

"What? NO! I, I mean, I…"

Cath leaned across and kissed him softly on the mouth.

"What the hell was that for?"

"To shut you up, Winchester!" Her hand rested gently on his cheek. "Listen. Once this is over, we'll open that tequila, perhaps take a couple of days break, god knows we deserve it, and, well, like you said, get to _know _each other a bit better. We need to talk anyway, Dean. There's a lot you need to know, about me and about _you._ But now?" She pointed towards the mausoleum. "We got work to do, soldier." All the gentleness had gone. The cold, hard, professional soldier that Colonel Catherine Miller was in, as she liked to call it, 'Business Mode'. "Once my team have stopped the Coven, we get our weapons and we hit the mausoleum. Dean? Don't underestimate Marcus, OK? He's very, _very _dangerous. You get your brother the hell out of there, no matter what it takes." Her green eyes darkened. "_I'll _deal with the traitor." Dean was about to open his mouth to protest when the urgent bleeping of Cath's cell-phone interrupted. She looked at the caller-id, a puzzled expression on her face, and flipped the phone open. "Liza?"

In the hospital, Liza Deveau whispered urgently into the phone. "Cath? Listen, I don't have much time. I got me a whole _army _of the dead in here, just itchin' to start unhookin' life support machines and raisin' all _kinds _of hell. We were wrong, Cath. It ain't no demon he's gonna try raisin'. It's worse."

Cath stared at Dean. "What are we dealing with, Liza?"

Liza Deveau stared at the man in front of her. He nodded briefly, his yellow eyes shining brightly in the gloom of the darkened hospital. "Well, I have it on good authority that Marcus is trying to raise an Elemental. Older than demons, sweetie. And _much _more dangerous."

"Liza, are you OK? You got somebody with you?" The comment about good authority was a code – it meant Liza was being coached.

"Cath, I can't tell you any more, I…" The line went dead.

"Liza? LIZA! SHIT!" Cath snapped the phone shut, frustration on her face. She ran her hand through her hair. Dean stared at her. She looked almost panicky.

"Babes? What's going on with Mamma Deveau?"

"What? Nothing. Nothing, Dean." She twisted around in her seat, one arm resting on the steering wheel of the car. "OK, things just got a bit more, um, _interesting. _He ain't tryin' to raise a demon, he's trying to raise an Elemental. Christ, he's madder than I thought!"

"What the hell is an Elemental? Oh, and by the way, I think it's stopped raining."

Cath glanced out of the window. The night was still. The raging storm had vanished as quickly as it had arrived. Huge ragged clouds flashed across the full moon, the blue-white light strobing the city. Cath smiled. "Good lads! Right, let's go. I'll give you a quick lesson on Elementals on the way. How far is this mausoleum?"

"It's around the back of the house. Plenty of cover, but the last bit is open ground. Only one way in and out. If Marcus is watching for us, and I think he probably will be, he'll see us coming, babes."

"Then we move in from the sides. He can't watch two directions at once." She opened the door and jumped out lightly. "Coming?" A grin flashed across her face and she winked at Dean. She looked almost excited, like a kid on Christmas morning…

…………….

Marcus stared out of the window. The raging storm had vanished. "Dammit!"

"What's up Marcus? Things not going according to plan?" Sam could feel the strength filling him. His captor suddenly seemed a little less intimidating than he had before…

"Oh, no matter, Sammy boy, no matter. Just a minor hitch, one that I had factored in to the equation. Only to be expected. Yes. Only to be expected. After all, Cathy is a clever little soldier, and she isn't working alone. I mean, she has the whole damn network behind her, so…" Marcus muttered to himself. He had lost the jovial confidence that Sam had witnessed earlier. He seemed edgy, jumpy, almost uncertain. Sam pulled himself up into a sitting position and tested the restraints again. They felt flimsy, as if one pull would tear them apart.

Marcus spun around suddenly. "Oh no you don't, my boy! Not yet!" His hand shot out, the fingers splayed wide and Sam felt the strength drain from him. Marcus smiled nastily. "I told you, Sammy, you may be the vessel, but _I'm _the master, OK?" He reached into a pocket and pulled out the book. Sam could smell the musty stench of the pages from where he sat. Marcus opened the book and the air inside the mausoleum took on a greasy, thick feeling. Sam could feel the power radiating from the book. Oh yes, Marcus was right. Words _were _powerful, and in the hands of a master, they could be unbelievably dangerous…

Marcus glanced at his watch. "Just a few more minutes, Sammy, a few more minutes. Everything has to be _right, _you see. Everything has to be in place. If it isn't, then," He locked a deeply disturbing gaze onto Sam. "If it isn't, then we all die. Here. Now. Tonight. So you see? I'm doing you a favour. I'm doing everyone a favour. This is the _right _thing to do. You do understand that, don't you Sammy?" The tone of his voice was brittle.

"You're _scared _Marcus! Aren't you? You're really scared!" Realisation hit Sam. Marcus wasn't in control at all.

"Scared? Don't be silly!" Marcus paced the mausoleum floor. "Of course I'm not scared! I'm _excited, _Sammy! This is the greatest test a Magician can have! Oh, controlling demons is _easy, _any half-witted Wiccan with the right words can do that. They're like soldier ants, Sammy, marching to the same tune. No willpower, see? No purpose except to destroy. Mindless thugs. But Elementals? Well, they're so much more _interesting." _He continued to pace, glancing at his watch, the open book balanced in his hand. "Five years ago, Cathy and I hit a coven. We took them all out, Sammy. Every last one of them. And during the clean up, I found this. I knew it was something special, and I was right. _This, _my boy, is the original grimoire of a very famous magician called Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa." He bent down, staring intently at Sam. "He was a genius, Sammy, a true genius. He was well known for his interest in the occult and was a master of demonology. But this? " He held the book out. "This _proves _that he was so much more! He knew about Elementals! The rituals, the alignments, everything! It's all in here! He never actually _did _it, but, just think! I'm carrying on the great man's work! Here! Now! Isn't that _exciting, _Sammy?"

Sam stared at the man. "My god, you have _no idea _what you're doing, do you? You have no idea how this is gonna end! Marcus, please! I'm begging you! Just stop for a minute, _think _about this! If this man was such a genius, how come he never completed the ritual? Because he knew it wouldn't work, that's why! Because he was as scared of the outcome as you are!" 

Marcus stood up suddenly, pure fury on his face. "I'm NOT SCARED! I'm NOT! And in a few moments, you will _see _for yourself just how powerful I am! Oh sure, Agrippa wrote down some rubbish about it tearing space and time apart, but that was so some rank amateur wouldn't come along and royally _fuck it up_! I'm _not _a rank amateur, Sammy, I'm as good as he _ever _was!"

"Will you listen to yourself! Tearing space and time apart? That's not an idle, 'don't do this, it really sucks' kinda threat, Marcus, that's an 'End of the World' kinda threat! How do you _know _you've got everything right? How do you know for _sure?"_

"SHUT UP!" The force of the power hit Sam, making every fibre of his body feel as if it were on fire. He cried out in pain as Marcus's anger was concentrated into a psychic blow that would have killed anyone else…

…………

Cath opened the back of the Land Rover and flicked a carefully concealed switch. There was a faint click and the floor of the boot popped open, revealing an arsenal of weapons that made Dean whistle softly. "Christ Almighty, Cathy! Is that, Cathy, is that _C4?" _Cath grinned at him.

"C4 go bang, much excitement!"

"You crazy bitch!"

"Thank you! Now listen. Elementals are a whole 'nother league of nastiness. They ain't inherently evil, they're just raw power. It all depends on how they're used. And if Marcus is in charge, you know that ain't gonna be a good thing. OK, Elementals 101. There are four elements, earth, air, fire and water, right?"

"Right."

"Wrong. There are _five._ The fifth is called Ether. It encompasses everything, every fibre of the universe, including the soul, the lot. Now, if I know Marcus, he won't fuck about with just raising a water sprite, or a fire salamander. That's pre-school stuff. But there are rumours that about six hundred years ago, a bloke called Agrippa found a ritual to control Ether. 'Ere. Catch." Cath tossed a sword to Dean and picked up the curved blade that she had warned him never to touch. She slipped the scabbard across her back and pulled her jacket over it. "Apparently, Agrippa never actually _did _the ritual because of some dire warning about it tearing the universe apart, but hey, that's never stopped yer average psycho Magician like Marcus from having a bash at it, has it?" She slammed the boot of the car shut and turned to face Dean. "If we don't stop him, love, everything ends." She snapped her fingers. "Like that. In a heartbeat. So I mean it when I say whatever it takes, Dean. _Whatever it takes. _We stop him. You got the Colt?"

Dean pulled the old gun out of his waistband and checked the chambers. All full… "Lock and loaded, babe." He pushed the gun back into his jeans.

"Then let's go." Cath and Dean set off at a run up the pathway, staying in the shadow of the house and out of line of sight of the mausoleum. The squat stone building behind the house stood silent in the darkness, surrounded by open lawns. Once out of the line of the house, Cath split off to the left, leaving Dean to move right. He moved silently and quickly through the rhododendron bushes that formed a forest of green, the branches snagging his jacket and whipping at his face. He ignored the stinging of the frequent slaps. All he could think about was stopping Marcus and getting Sammy to safety…

Cath moved like a shadow towards the mausoleum, her eyes never leaving the ugly building. She knew instinctively that Dean was keeping pace with her on the other side of the garden. She was impressed by his ability as a hunter. One of the very best. John had trained his sons well… The bright moonlight would be a problem. Once they were on open ground, Marcus would be able to see them coming. "Bugger." Cath swore quietly to herself. The open ground was wider than she had expected. Damn these rich bastards and their penchant for acres of rolling lawns! She glanced up at the sky and a puzzled look crossed her face. "What the fuck?" A portion of the moon seemed to have disappeared, like someone had taken a bite out of it… "Shit! A fucking _eclipse!" _She quickened her pace. They had a few minutes at most…

Dean reached the edge of the bushes and stopped, his eyes locked onto the mausoleum. He calculated the distance to the doorway. It would take him maybe ten to fifteen seconds to cover the ground at a flat run. Plenty of time for Marcus to see him coming… "OK, well, here goes nothin'!" He took a deep breath and ran full pelt across the lawn, sliding to a stop against the wall of the mausoleum. At the same moment, Cath slid to a stop the other side of the door and glanced across at Dean. She nodded to him.

"On three?"

"On three."

"One…

……….

Sam groaned in pain. "It's starting!" Marcus glanced out of the window up into the sky. The black shadow inched its way across the face of the moon, swallowing the blue-white light piece by piece. He turned back and smiled gently at Sam. For a brief second, Sam could see the man that Marcus once was… "Good luck, kiddo." He looked down at the floor and carefully positioned himself in the exact centre. Through the pain, Sam could see an intricate design covering the floor of the mausoleum, Marcus standing in the middle of a triangle within a circle. The moonlight streamed in through the circular opening in the roof of the building like a spotlight, dimming slowly. Marcus stared intently at the book and his mouth moved, reciting the incantation on the page, word for word, slowly, carefully, precisely… Sam felt the restraints around his wrists fall away and he was lifted slowly upwards, his arms outstretched as if he were being crucified. He threw back his head, fighting the pain that filled every part of his body, his eyes screwed tight shut as he struggled to stop himself from screaming out loud… Marcus's voice became more intense, more urgent, louder – his eyes fixed on the rising form of Sam as he hovered in mid-air. A roaring sound filled the room, echoing off the stone walls and in the centre beneath Sam the ground split, spilling fire-bright light upwards, enveloping Sam… Marcus raised his right hand, his fingers splayed wide and a bolt of searing white light sprang from his fingers, hitting Sam full in the chest. Sam screamed in agony as the bolt hit him…

The door of the mausoleum smashed back against the wall and Sam forced his head forward. "SAM! NO!" Dean screamed above the maelstrom and sprinted towards his brother, sheer desperation on his face…

To be continued… 


	16. End Game Part Two

End Game Part Two

When the Levees Break – A Supernatural Story Chapter 16

Marcus spun around to see Dean pelting towards him, a look of utter fury on his face. "YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

"DEAN! DOWN!" Dean hit the ground and rolled as a razor-sharp throwing knife flew through the air and impaled itself deep into the flesh of Marcus's outstretched hand. He screamed with fury, his black eyes locking onto Cath, her hand reaching behind her and pulling the wickedly sharp curved blade from its scabbard. The sword seemed to hiss in the thick air as if repelled by the stench of magic…

"Oh no you DON'T, you little bitch!" Despite the blade of the knife buried deep into the palm of his hand, Marcus splayed his fingers wide, the blood from the wound running down his wrist and dripping onto the floor. He muttered under his breath and a bolt of blinding white light shot from his fingertips towards Cath. The Englishwoman brought the curved scimitar around in a sweeping arc and the metal screamed as the bolt of light bounced off it and blasted the stonework behind her into dust.

"You keep firin' them thunderbolts at me you bastard, I'll keep battin' them _straight _back at ya!" Cath's eyes were as black as Marcus's. "DEAN! GET THE BOOK!" Marcus spun around to try and find Dean, but his legs were suddenly buckled from under him as Dean kicked hard into the backs of his knees. The book raised up into the air as if it were trying to take flight like a giant butterfly. The pages flipped and rustled in the roaring maelstrom that spun about them. Marcus snatched at the book, his fingertips brushing against the spine but not quite managing to gain purchase. He hit the ground, his knees cracking sickeningly on the hard stone floor. He ignored the shooting pain that ran up his legs, rolled and came up face to face with Dean. The barrel of the Colt stared at him. His eyes travelled the length of the gun and into two clear green eyes filled with fury. Dean cocked the gun, the barrel rotating slowly, the bullet nestling into its firing position, ready to send Marcus to Hell…

"Release my brother, you lunatic!"

"Your brother?" Marcus glanced at the suspended form of Sam, his head thrown back in agony – every muscle straining against the force that filled him. Marcus turned back and smiled nastily at Dean. "Say pretty please!"

Dean smiled slowly, his eyes never leaving Marcus. He slowly raised his other hand. The book rested in his fingers and Marcus eyed it greedily. "_Pretty please, _you sick bastard!"

"Dean, what the _fuck _are you doing!" Cath stood, the sword keening angrily in the fallout of the magic Marcus had let loose. The blade was special. Very special. And it didn't like the crap that had singed the shining metal a dark blue. The blade, and its keeper, were as mad as hell…

"You think I'm stupid, Dean?"

"You want me to answer that honestly?"

The smile fell away from Marcus's lips. Dean felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as a fury filled the magician's eyes. He couldn't think of him as Marcus any more. Marcus was long gone… "Give me the book, Dean. Give it to me now." Marcus jerked a thumb towards Sam. "Or I'll let _him _loose on you!"

Confusion flickered in Dean's eyes. What the hell did he mean? He glanced over towards Sam. It was just the second Marcus needed. Dean felt a force hit him like a truck, knocking the breath out of his lungs and hurling him across the mausoleum. His head cracked sickeningly on the edge of the stone sarcophagus and he felt himself fall into unconsciousness…

Marcus stood up, chuckling softly to himself. He walked over to the unconscious form of Dean and, out of pure spite, kicked him hard in the ribs. He smiled nastily as he heard at least two of them crack. "Underestimate you? Oh, Dean, I don't think I did, you good little soldier, you!" He bent down and his fingers curled around the book, ready to pull it from Dean's limp hand. A hard, cold pressure on his throat made him freeze.

"What, you forgot about me then, Marcus?" Cath's voice was flat. "You forgot there were _two_ good little soldiers here? The curved blade pressed against Marcus's neck, a single drop of blood trickled from the angry red line that crossed his throat. Marcus didn't move. He knew that if he did, Cath would cut his throat without a second's hesitation. He smiled to himself.

"How could I forget about you, babes?"

"You stop this now, Marcus. Right _now." _

"Or you'll what? You'll kill me? Oh, I don't think so, Cathy. I don't think so. Because, despite what people think, you're not that stupid either, are you? You know perfectly well that if you kill me, you'll be killing the one person who _can _stop this! Oh, _what _a dilemma, babes, _what_ a dilemma!" Ignoring the sword pressed to his throat, he turned his head and locked his black gaze onto Cath. Marcus seemed to almost relish the sensation of the blade biting into his skin. He put a finger to the blood that trickled down his neck and held the red smeared finger up for Cath to see. Still smiling, he licked the blood from his finger slowly, as if it were the finest caviar. The cut that ran red vanished, the blade pressing now against virgin, unblemished skin. "Neat, huh?" Marcus laughed.

"Party tricks, Marcus. I've seen you do better when you're drunk. Up. Up, up, up!" She rested the tip of the blade against his throat, ready to skewer the sword through to his spine at a whim. She lifted the point and Marcus gradually stood up, his head tilted back slightly but those black eyes still fixed on hers, the smug smile still playing across his lips.

"You feel it too, don't you, my love? The blackness that lies within all of our kind? The blackness that lies in him, you, me, _all _of us? You remember that time in New York? In the alleyway?" 

Cath flinched as the memories crashed into her mind. "Shut up, Marcus…"

"You remember, don't you, babes? You remember that awesome power, filling you? Making every nerve tingle with the sensation of uncontrollable pleasure? The power that meant nobody could stop you? Could harm you?"

"I said shut UP!"

Marcus's voice took on the consistency of honey as he opened the floodgates of Cath's memories – memories she had buried deep for over five years. The tip of the sword shook slightly. Marcus's smile broadened. He knew he was getting through the woman's iron-willed defences. Oh yes, he knew where Cath Miller was vulnerable. He moved in for the kill… "You remember staring into John's eyes, don't you? As he pointed that gun at you? What did you feel, Cathy? What did you feel? Did you feel pity for him? Did you think he would pull the trigger? Did you _want _him to pull it, Cathy? Did you _want _to die at that moment, or did the power taste just _too _sweet to release? I can give you that power back, baby. By my side. With me." Marcus grinned. "On my terms, though, of course."

Cath was silent. Her gaze dropped for a second. Marcus felt a triumphant wave flood through him. Finally! He had bested the oh so powerful Colonel Catherine Miller! Cath slowly raised her eyes back to his and Marcus's grin froze on his face. He had seen that look in her eyes before… The blackness was gone. Two piercing green orbs stared back at him. A slow, lazy smile spread across her lips. A smile filled with malice that chilled his blackened soul.

"Christ Almighty, Marcus, you don't half like the sound of yer own voice, don't ya? Who said I was gonna kill you anyways? I'm a _Londoner, _you pratt! We're famous for our use of random, mindless violence. Now, here's the thing. You can heal a little sword nick nicely. Hmm. I'm thinkin'. Wonder if you can replace a whole limb?" The sword moved faster than the eye could follow and Marcus felt a white hot pain slice through his wrist. His right hand, the book still clasped in his fingers, dropped to the floor. Marcus bellowed in pain as the blood spurted from the stump, spraying the walls, Cath and the still-unconscious Dean. Marcus grasped his wrist, the blood pouring over his hand and stared in disbelief at where his right hand _should _have been. Cath let out a shout of laughter. "Well, guess you can't then, old son!" Her foot lashed out with pinpoint accuracy, catching Marcus under the chin and sending him crashing backwards. "Didn't appreciate what you did to Dean there, Marcus. Kicking a man when he's down, not very sporting of you, was it?" She stalked towards him, the bloodstained sword leaving a trail of blood behind her. "Release Sam. _Now_, Marcus. Or I start cutting bits off you."

Marcus backed himself away from the nightmarish figure of the woman. She was splattered in blood, the huge curved sword resting easily in her hands. He glanced over at Sam and smiled. "No can do, babes! You see, without the grimoire, I can't control him. You cut my hand off, you cut the puppet-master's strings, my love! See?"

Cath looked at Sam. He seemed still, his head now slumped forward on his chest. "Sam?" Sam's head lifted slowly, the eyes tight shut. The gaping crack in the floor suddenly snapped closed and the light that had bathed his form vanished like a switch had been flicked off. He opened his eyes and turned slowly to face Cath. The blue-white orbs that looked back at her were not human. They were ancient, unforgiving, and utterly, utterly cold…

………………

Mamma Deveau put her full weight on the door, trying desperately to hold back the swarm of grabbing hands that tried to haul her and the other occupants of the ward into their clutches. "Get something heavy, _anything_ girl!" The terrified nurse just stared at her, her blue eyes wide with fear. Mamma Deveau scowled. "Don't make me slap you, girl! MOVE!" The nurse snapped back into the here and now and frantically looked around the ward for something, _anything_ that would work as a barricade.

"The bed. Use the damn bed! I can't keep these nasties away from us much longer, chile!"

The nurse grabbed the end of the empty bed and hauled at it. It wouldn't budge. "Take the damn locks off the wheels! Sweet Lord, give me strength!" Mamma Deveau rolled her eyes as the nurse stamped on the wheel locks, disengaging them. The bed swivelled and swung towards Mamma Deveau. She stepped out of the way, grabbing the end of the bed and wedging it hard against the buckling door. The nurse stamped hard on the wheel lock and the bed formed an immovable barrier. "OK, so we bought ourselves some time here, but this ain't good, sweetie, this ain't no good at all." Mamma Deveau scanned the room. "We need weapons. Anythin' made of iron in this place?"

The nurse stared at her in disbelief. "Weapons? What the hell are you talking about? There're goddamn _zombies _in the hallway!"

"Don't be silly, chile! They ain't zombies, they's fetches. Ghosts of those who died in Katrina. That's why we need iron. Now c'mon, _think_ girl, think!" The nurse just stared, tears of terror streaming down her face.

"I… I don't know! Everything in here is steel, just steel, no iron, you can't clean it properly, you see, whereas steel you can disinfect, this is a hospital, you know!" Mamma Deveau's face softened. The girl was obviously terrified. She wrapped a comforting arm around the young nurse's shoulders.

"There, there, ssh, chile, don't cry now." She looked deep into the nurse's red-rimmed eyes. "Guess they didn't train you for this sorta thing at medical school, did they? OK, so here's what we gonna do. You're gonna take hold of this drip stand, and any one of them critters comes a-grabbin' through that door, you're gonna bat them straight back to Hell with all your might, you hear me?"

"And what are you gonna do?"

Mamma Deveau smiled. "Oh, just gonna call in a couple of favours, chile. Just callin' in a couple of favours…"

……………

Alex drove through the screaming hurricane like a man possessed. He couldn't stop the tears of terror streaming down his cheeks. He'd just driven his truck _through his dead wife_, for Christ's sake! He wiped his face quickly, his eyes never leaving the road, dodging through the debris that rained down on the street like angry bees. A roof tile slammed into the windscreen, crazing the glass, making it almost impossible to see. Michael let out a shrill scream of fright and Alex swore, wrestling with the steering wheel. "Hang on, son! I'm gonna get you out of here! HANG ON!" He felt the back end of the truck start to snake and spun the wheel, steering into the skid. The truck shuddered as the tyres gripped again, shooting the vehicle forward. Too late, Alex saw the levee wall looming up out of the darkness, directly in front of them. "JESUS!" He threw himself across his son, desperate to protect him from the impact he knew was coming…

The truck slammed into the wall, the back end rearing up like a bucking horse. Alex felt his world explode as the cab folded in, shattered glass spraying him with hundreds of searing cuts…

Everything stopped.

Alex lay across his son, motionless. The engine hissed as the water from the radiator flooded onto hot metal. The rain drummed incessantly on the buckled roof of the cab. Alex moaned and slowly tried to push himself upright, but an agonising pain shot through his side and he yelped. He gritted his teeth and, with a loud, prolonged groan, managed to sit back upright into the driver's seat. He looked across at his son. "Mikey? You OK? Talk to me!"

"Daddy?"

"Oh thank Christ!" He cupped the back of his son's neck with his right hand, his left hand pressed against the wound in his side. He could feel the damp, sticky blood seeping between his fingers. He leaned his head back on the headrest, his eyes tight closed for a second. He knew that the wound in his side was bad and that he was loosing a lot of blood. But right now, his only thought was for his son. "You hurt? Does it hurt any place, Mikey?"

"No. I'm OK, daddy." Michael looked at his father, blood splattering his face and clothes. Alex preyed it was his blood and not his son's. The child's blue eyes were wide with fright. I'm scared!"

"I know, son. I know. So am I. But we're not safe here, so we're gonna have to get out of the truck and find shelter, OK? You with me?" He smiled through the pain, trying desperately to reassure the frightened child. He ruffled the boy's blonde hair and smiled again. "OK, we need to get one of these doors open. Now listen. I'm hurt, son. So I need you to climb across my lap and try to open this door, OK?" Alex could see that the door on the passenger side was buckled and twisted, wedged tight shut. The only chance was his door. Michael nodded and gingerly climbed across his father's lap. Alex threw back his head and bit down hard on his lip to stop himself yelling out in pain, his eyes screwed tight shut, willing the agony that tore through him to stop, just for a second. Michael pulled on the door lever and put his slight weight against the door, but it wouldn't open.

"It won't move, daddy!"

"Push hard, son. Push _real _hard!" He ignored the waves of pain that threatened to send him tumbling into unconsciousness and pushed as hard as he could against the door.

Alex was starting to panic. He could smell the smoke starting to drift into the cab through the air conditioning ducts. He could also smell the sickeningly sweet smell of gasoline. The tank had ruptured. He knew damn well, from all the car fires he had attended over the years, that they had only a minute or two at most before the tank blew…

……………

The laser-beam gaze locked on to Cath and Sam turned to her, a puzzled expression on his face. "What are you?" His voice seemed to echo inside her head. It was sharp, brittle and very, very dangerous…

"I'm a Magi. A warrior."

"Are you a threat?"

Cath knew that it wasn't Sam doing the talking. It was the entity, the Elemental, that now possessed Sam. "No. I'm no threat." Cath shifted the grip on her sword, her fingers tightening on the leather handle.

"You lie."

Cath cried out in agony as she slammed hard into the stone wall. The sword fell from her grip and clattered onto the floor. She slid slowly down, every fibre of her body enduring wave after wave of sickening pain. She slumped onto the cold stone slabs, unable to move, barely able to breathe. Sam stalked towards her, his icy gaze never leaving her. Her cheek rested on the granite of the floor and she watched the tall man as he reared up over her. She knew she was about to die…

"She's mine." Sam stopped in his tracks and his head snapped around, the blue eyes searching for the source of defiance. Marcus stood up slowly, cradling his bloodied stump, the blood soaking into his clothing. "She's mine to do with as I will. We will need her. She must stay alive, you understand?" Marcus's black eyes held the gaze of Sam's piercing blue ones.

"What are you?"

"I'm your summoner. I called you here."

"Why?"

"So that you could walk the earth again! So you could exist here, now!" Marcus smiled broadly.

"I do not understand."

"Ah, but you _will, _my child, you will!" Marcus laid a bloodstained hand on Sam's cheek. "You're like a new-born babe, fresh into the world. I will guide you, teach you. Together, we can do anything!"

Sam's vivid blue eyes dropped down to Marcus's bloodied arm. "You are damaged."

Marcus followed Sam's gaze to where his right hand should have been. "Yes. I'm, um, _damaged. _But it's of no consequence."

Sam looked up, seeming to come to a decision. He glanced over at Cath. "She did this."

"Yes, yes she did."

"Then she must die."

"NO!" Dean dragged himself to his feet, his arm wrapped around his chest trying to press against the pain of the smashed ribs that dug into his side. "Sammy! Don't do this! Listen to me!" Dean was scared. Really scared. Whatever had hold of his brother was very, _very _powerful. This was no demon. A demon he could deal with. A demon he could _kill. _But this? How the hell did he deal with this?

Sam gazed at his brother, no trace of recognition in his eyes. "What are you?"

"I'm your brother, Sammy. It's me. It's Dean."

"I do not understand."

A flash of fear induced anger flickered across Dean's face. "What the fuck do you mean, you don't understand? I'm your _brother, _Sammy! Something's got inside you, something that _he _called here. You need to fight it, Sammy, you need to fight…" Dean stopped in mid-sentence as the pain ripped through him. He dropped to his knees, fighting the urge to throw up.

"You are as she is. You are Magi. A warrior. A _threat."_ Sam's voice was emotionless, flat, cold.

Marcus stood behind Sam, smiling quietly. "You see, Dean? He listens only to me. _Only to me, _Dean…"

Dean slowly lifted his head, every tiny movement sending needles of pain through him. His eyes pleaded with his brother. "Sammy, _please, _for the love of God! _He's _the threat, not me, not Cathy! You don't know why he called you here – you wanna know? So that he can control you, get you to do what _he _wants you to! So that he can make you some kind of slave to him and his power-crazed ideas about ruling the fucking world! Sammy! Goddamn it, bro,_ you hear me?_"

Sam stared at his brother. "You speak the truth." He turned to Marcus. "You called me here to do your bidding. This is so?"

"No! So that we could work _together_, Sammy, so we could work _together!" _

Silence filled the mausoleum. And then… just for a second, the piercing blue eyes of Sam flickered briefly. "My name is _Sam, _Marcus…"

To be concluded… 


	17. Still waters run Deep Part One

Still Waters run deep Part One

When the Levees Break – A Supernatural Story Chapter 17

_The journey so far… _

_"Cryin' won't help you, prayin' won't do you no good,  
Now, cryin' won't help you, prayin' won't do you no good,  
When the levee breaks, mama, you got to move."_

_When the Levee Breaks – Led Zeppelin_

_Voices of the dead – Why won't you help us?_

_Whispering, marching on the living, jealous of their beating hearts,_

_Warriors, fighting to save the world from a never ending darkness,_

_A city forgotten by its nation, abandoned to its fate,_

_One man, spinning into madness, power-crazed and no more the owner of his own soul,_

_Demons and Mankind as kindred spirits in the battle,_

_The Chosen One, his eyes aflame,_

_The Levee walls, crumbling and cracking,_

_How did it come to this?_

**_Why won't you help us?_**

……………..

Dean stared at Sam. "Sammy? Sammy, you're still in there! Fight it, man, FIGHT IT!"

Marcus spun around and glared at Dean, fury in his eyes. "Shut your mouth, Winchester!" Dean cried out in pain as another wave of agony washed over him. He winced as he felt the sharp shards of bone jab into his side. "You son of a bitch, stop doin' that!"

"The warrior is right. This is unnecessary. You will stop." Marcus stared in disbelief at Sam.

"You disobey me?"

"I have no reason to obey you, warlock. You have yet to give me any order that makes sense."

"Then here's where we start, Sammy boy!" Marcus's head snapped back to Dean, malice filling his smile. He pointed at the man, his blood dripping from the outstretched finger. "The warrior is surplus to requirements. Kill him."

Sam looked at Marcus as if he were something on the bottom of his shoe. "The warrior means something to the vessel. Something important. He is his guardian. If he guards the vessel, he will guard me. I will not destroy him."

"I…"

"Your orders make no sense. You are human. Flawed. Your emotions control your actions." A puzzled look flashed across Sam's face. "Why is this?"

"Because he's fucking crazy, Sammy! Because he wants you as some kinda sick puppet to do his dirty work because he's too fucking afraid to do it himself! Yeah, go on, Marcus! Hit me with another one of your fucking thunderbolts, see if I give a fuck!" Dean dragged himself to his feet again, the Colt in his hand. He was furiously angry and absolutely terrified. He aimed the gun straight at Sam, the gun barrel steady. "OK, so listen up, Elemental or whatever the hell you are! Here's the thing. You're inside my brother. You don't wanna be there, he don't want you there, and I sure as hell don't want you anywhere fucking near Sammy. Now I don't know if a bullet outta this sucker is gonna do the dirty on your ass, but I'm guessing at the very least it's gonna sting like a bitch! So I'll make you a deal. You get the FUCK out of my brother and I won't kill your ass!"

"You would shoot your own brother?"

"Bet ya!" Dean pulled back the hammer, a look of grim determination in his eyes. "Come on then, freak! You seem to be able to see inside people's heads, tell me. Ya think I'm bluffin' here?"

Sam looked at Dean quizzically. "No, you are not, as you say, bluffin'. You would do this. But it would tear at your soul for the rest of your life to do it. This is compassion, yes?"

Dean nodded. "Yes, this is compassion. Something that Marcus doesn't know anything about."

"I see. So you would kill your own brother out of compassion for him?"

"I would. And I'd do it because I wouldn't be able to just stand by and watch my baby brother become something that is so vile to him, so repellent, that he would probably thank me for fucking killing him!"

"Well, this is all well and nice, folks, what with the philosophical debate and all, but, excuse me? Trying to usher in a New World order over here?" Marcus sounded petulant. Dean and Sam glanced over at the man.

"Shut up, Marcus!"

Sam turned back to Dean, his face thoughtful. "This vessel is fighting against me. There is demon blood in him. It makes him unsuitable." The laser-blue eyes locked with Dean.

Oh, no! No, no no, you fuckin' don't! You ain't possessing me!" Dean backed away.

"Oh, I don't mean you, warrior. You would fight me even harder than this one. No." He looked at Cath. "She, on the other hand…"

"STOP THIS!" Marcus's voice was edged with hysteria. "STOP! I have chosen the vessel for you! You will obey me!" Marcus made a lunge for the book. Dean stuck his foot out, catching the man's ankles and sending him sprawling on the floor, his fingers grabbing desperately at the book that lay just millimetres out of reach…

…………..

Mamma Deveau filled in the last line of the complex design and stood back. She didn't have the powder, the brazier or any candles, but damn it, this would have to do. She closed her eyes and muttered a Latin incantation under her breath, praying that this would work…

"Well. Black marker pen and blood from a transfusion bag! Creative, Mamma, very creative!" The demon laughed, his yellow eyes twinkling with amusement.

"You came."

"You called."

"I didn't think you would."

"Well, you see, here's the thing." The demon walked around to the side of the bed and casually perched on the edge, a smile playing around his lips. He turned his yellow gaze onto Mamma Deveau. The radiating evil in his eyes chilled her blood to the marrow. "You don't need all the ingredients and candles and all that mumbo-jumbo crap, Mamma. Just the intent. That's all. If the right intent is there, well…" The demon grinned and snapped his fingers. "Up I pop! Neat, huh?"

"I'll have to remember that."

"Oh, I shouldn't worry about your long-term memory too much, if I was you!" The demon smirked. "Anyway, enough of our usual banter. What can I do for you, my sweet?"

"You can stop this. Stop the slaughter."

"And why would I want to do that?"

"Because you know damn well it don't fit in with your plans, boy!"

"Mamma, an Elemental running around, tearing the very fabric of space and time apart don't fit in with anyone's plans! What on, well, on Earth, really, makes you think I can stop it?"

"Because Sammy Winchester is your prodigy, you asshole! You think I don't know? You think I don't know 'bout the plans you have for him and the others?" Mamma moved closer, the curved blade that had lain hidden her purse concealed behind her back… "And if you think I'm just gonna stand by and watch some critter that don't belong here, nor nowhere else for that matter, tear up my goddamn town and destroy the people I love, you got another thing coming, buster!" For an elderly lady, she moved surprisingly quickly. The curved blade rested perfectly around the demon's throat. His yellow eyes widened in surprise.

"Why you…"

"Sneaky bitch? Yeah, you bastard, that's the Deveau's all the way! My Great Grandmother gave this to me. All the way from Africa. Used by a veeery powerful witchdoctor to kill freakin' demons! And ya know something? I think I'll give it to Dean once we're done. Little present, like. Now. Let's take another look at the options, shall we?" Mamma Deveau shifted her grip on the sickle-shaped blade, the wickedly sharp steel pressing against the skin of the demon's neck. The look of determination in her eyes barely masked the inner fear that was tying her stomach in knots.

"Woman, you know that I will come after you? Destroy you? Drag your carcass into a screaming pit of Hell?"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Knew that years ago. What I wanna know now is how you gonna stop this?"

"What makes you think I can?"

"Because one thing about you, old Yeller, is I've never underestimated you. Never."

"Well, for your information, woman, I've already helped. Dean has the Colt. Loaded. All he has to do is shoot Sammy." The demon smiled. "All bets are off."

"You know Dean'll never do that!"

"Oh, now who are you underestimating? You think I'm only interested in little Sammy boy? You think I haven't been nurturing Dean as well all these years? No, Mamma. Dean will do what he has to do."

"Then, Yeller, you don't know the Winchesters!"

The demon sighed. "Listen. We could have this entire 'I know Sammy and Dean better than you know Sammy and Dean' conversation all night, it wouldn't achieve anything except to bore the pants off that rather sweet looking little nurse over there. You OK there, honey?" The demon glanced over at the by now almost catatonic nurse and winked. He glanced back to Mamma Deveau. "Pretty little thing, ain't she?"

"Wanna focus on the job in hand here, fugly?"

The demon put on a petulant look. "No need for that, Mamma! Demons have feelings too, you know!"

Mamma Deveau's eyes narrowed. "Yer stallin'!" She shifted the grip on the knife again and pressed the curved blade onto the demon's neck. "Why yer stallin', demon? What's yer game?"

"I have no idea what you…" Mamma Deveau glanced down and then back up again and smiled slowly. The demon followed her gaze and his head snapped back up. "Oh, that's low, Deveau, even for you! A Devil's Trap?"

Mamma Deveau just carried on smiling. "How the hell do you think I've been able to hold this damn knife to your throat without you goin' all slashy on my ass? Dumb luck? Told you, demon, you underestimate people too much. Now. You's in the middle of a particularly powerful Trap, boy. Dis ain't no common nor garden Trap. Dis one's special. Sommat my Granny taught me. You lie, you die." The demon glanced down at the Trap again. The patterns around the edges seemed to squirm and twist, making his eyes hurt. He cursed inwardly and spent an entertaining few seconds formulating a particularly painful and unpleasant demise for the woman. But the inevitability of his situation was now clear. Mamma Deveau was in charge.

"OK. The book? Agrippa's grimoire? I left it at that coven in England for Marcus to find. You see, it's been a long-term plan, this one. It was one of the only ways to get the Magi in one place at the same time."

"What?"

The demon smiled nastily. "You think this has always been about Sammy, don't you? Oh, way off base, Mamma, way off!" He laughed. "Magi are notoriously unstable, Mamma. By their very nature. Easy to turn. And I need Generals, Mamma, good ones. Generals like Cath Miller. Generals like Marcus Alexander. Generals like Dean Winchester. And right now? They are all so wrapped up in their own variations of sickening black madness, that at the right moment I step in, scoop them up and bam!" The demon snapped his fingers. "They work for me. Marcus is completely gone, he's gonna be the easiest. Cath has been betrayed by the one person she loved and as we speak is spiralling into madness. And Dean? Dean faces the ultimate choice – to kill his own brother. Can you imagine what kind of a mental state that self-loathing, desperate child will be in if that happens? The madness will take hold and I have a full set!"

"I don't understand…"

"Of course you don't! Humans! They think in such short time scales! Sammy was just the opening vessel, a bait to get Marcus to perform the ritual. No, right about…" The demon glanced at his watch. "Yes, now, the real Chosen One should be staggering through the door…" He smiled again. "All true, Mamma. All true. See? Still here, still standing!"

"Who is the Chosen One?"

"Why, Michael, of course!"

"Oh god no! He's just a child!"

"So is the Elemental. Within Michael, he can grow as the child grows. But he'll be so much more controllable in a child's mind, more pliable, more, well, you get the picture."

"But I thought…"

"You thought that the creation of an Elemental in this time and dimension would cause a rift in Space and Time that would destroy everything, didn't you? Good grief woman, do you honestly think that bit was true?" The laugh this time was genuine amusement at the stupidity of humans. "Elementals are powerful, yes, but they're like children. They have no concept of their own power. They feed off the vessel. They get their world vision through the eyes of the Chosen One. And Michael is such an innocent, isn't he? Once his father is out of the way, then I can rear him as my own. Teach him, guide him." The demon looked thoughtful. "Well, OK then, if we're being honest here, he's my heavy artillery. And the Magi are my Generals. My army will need generals of their calibre."

"What about the mayhem we got here then?"

"A distraction. Collateral damage." The demon shrugged. "Inevitable, I'm afraid."

"And Sam?"

"Ah, I have other plans for our Sammy!"

"You goddamn son of a bitch!" She drew the blade back and the metal sang as it slashed across… where the demon's neck should have been. He'd vanished. "DAMMIT!" Mamma Deveau stared at the empty trap – it could hold a demon of his strength only for a short time, she knew that, and he had known it too. The curved blade hung limply from her hand. What now? What the hell did she do now?

………………

With one last cry of frustration and pain, Alex managed to help his son kick the truck door open. Michael tumbled out and landed sprawled in the mud, his arms flung wide to break his fall. Alex toppled out, twisting painfully to avoid landing on his son. He scrambled to his feet, his left arm wrapped tightly around his waist to try to contain the stabbing pain of at least four broken ribs. He grabbed his son's arm and hauled him to his feet. "RUN!" The boy and his father staggered a few steps before they were flung forward into the mud again by the explosion of the trucks' gas tank. Alex felt the heat from the inferno scorch the back of his neck and he held Michael flat on the ground as the fireball roared over their heads. "Stay low and MOVE!" In a crouched run, they staggered up the lawn of some house – one of the big houses in the rich part of the city at a guess. The grass bank was steep. Whoever owned this house had wanted to make damn sure they never suffered the indignity of getting flooded if the levee broke. Not like down town. Where the ordinary people lived. And died. Oh, no, not here. The bitterness was building in Alex. Too much had happened over the last few days, too much that was wrong, evil, savage. When this was all over, he was going to take Michael far away. Start anew. He would learn how to hunt these things, the things that had taken his beloved Mary away from him, had taken his friends, his home, his fucking life from him. And then he would teach Michael. Everything. He had no idea how. But he would learn. Right now though, he had to get his son to safety and just wait this damn storm out. The mausoleum loomed in the darkness, a solid structure made of stone. Safety. He pulled on Michael's arm. "There, son. The stone building. Come on!" They staggered across the manicured lawn, dodging the shrapnel that flew from the wooden buildings around them, struggling against the howling wind. Then, as suddenly as it had started, the wind just…stopped…

Alex paused, confused. "What the…" He glanced down at Michael, the boy was filthy dirty and his wide blue eyes were filled with fright. Alex glanced around. Something wasn't right here…

"Daddy! They're all around us! The dead people! Look!" Alex looked at where Michael pointed but could see nothing. No, hold on, there was movement in the bushes…"SHIT! RUN! RUN MICHAEL!" Michael started to run, but the little boy was exhausted. He stumbled again and again. Alex hauled on his son's arm, swinging him up onto his shoulder and, ignoring the screaming pain that stabbed into his side, pelted towards the mausoleum. If he could get inside, he could block the door, keep these goddamn freaks away from his boy…

…………

Dean watched Marcus as he scrabbled desperately for the book. "You're pathetic, you know that Marcus?" Dean aimed a kick at the man, feeling his boot slam satisfyingly into his ribs. Marcus yelped in pain and anger and scrabbled to his feet, shaking with fury.

"Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid! You just won't back down, will you, Winchester? You just don't know when to fucking quit!"

"Nor do you, you treacherous piece of shit!" Marcus felt the sharp stab of a sword blade at his throat. He glanced around to see a vision of hell itself at the other end of the curved scimitar. "You know something, arsehole? I've had just about enough of you and your little game. It ends. Now." Cath brought the blade back. Marcus watched her, mesmerised.

"You wouldn't…"

The door of the mausoleum burst open and Alex ran through, Michael draped over his shoulder. He skidded to a stop, surprise written all over his face. In front of him were the two hunters who had warned him all those days ago about the impending shitstorm that had hit him and his family. A third man stood between them, his right hand now just a bloody stump. The rest of the hand lay on the floor, still clutching a book in its fingers. In the corner stood a tall young man, his eyes blazing blue-white. And sitting on the sarcophagus, clapping slowly and smiling broadly was a man with yellow eyes…

_**The conclusion to follow…**_


	18. Still Waters Run Deep Part Two

Still Waters run Deep Part Two

When the Levees Break – A Supernatural Story Chapter 18

"Oh nice timing, Alex, _very _nice timing!" The man with yellow eyes hopped down from the stone sarcophagus and strolled towards the man. Alex tightened his grip on his son and took a step back. He had no idea who or _what _this man was, but he was damn sure the yellow eyes were not the result of a kidney infection. And how the hell did he know his name?

"Who the hell are _you_?"

"Stop RIGHT there, you son of a bitch!" Dean swung the Colt around and levelled it at the demon. "You take one more step and I'll put one of these goddamn magic bullets straight through your brain, you hear me?" Dean's trigger finger was getting _very _itchy. His brother was possessed by something immensely powerful and inherently _not good_, Cath was going all black-eyed on his arse again, he had had just about enough of Marcus for one day and now two civilians, one only a child, had walked into this shitstorm. That was _it. _"OK, listen up, you bastard. I am _not _having a good day here! And honestly? I don't have a goddamn _clue _how to make it start going better, but ya know? Shooting you would be a _great_ way to start the healing process! So here's, as you so love to say, _the thing._ Any second now, I'm gonna start firin' lead around this stone hellhouse, and you _know _I'm an ace shot. So give me _one damn good reason _why the first bullet shouldn't be aimed straight between your piggy little yellow eyes, you _fuck_!" The fear had gone. Dean was just angry. Angrier than he had ever been in his life. The blackness welled up in him like a Texan striking oil, filling every fibre of his being. He had fought against it all his life. He knew it had laid inside him since he was a child – aware of its dark presence like a shadow, always with him, always just under the surface. Sam had often been bewildered by his perceived flippancy and cocky attitude to life, thinking it was just Dean's way of coping with the horrors that they had grown up with. Dean had never told him of the black fury that consumed him in the small hours, that stalked his dreams, calling to him.

Not this time.

Dean let the darkness in. He welcomed it. Felt its icy embrace warm him. Felt it drive away any trace of fear, a fear he had always thought of as normal. The pain of his broken ribs melted away into nothing. He felt taller, stronger, more powerful than he had ever felt. A small smile played around the corners of his mouth, a smile that warned of an impending explosion of violence and terror like no other…

The demon stared at him. "Well, well, kitty's got claws! There is actually a _very good _reason for not shooting me with one of your _magic _bullets, Dean. Wanna know what it is?"

"Kiss 'n' tell, shorty. I'm dyin' to know!"

The demon broke into a wide grin. "_Dying _to know? Really? Not a word I'd chose in your position, but then again…"

The explosion echoed around the chamber. The demon spun around, the bullet passing clean through his shoulder. He stared at Dean, a look of bewilderment on his face. This was compounded by the equal puzzlement on Dean's face. Dean shrugged.

"Wasn't me."

The demon swivelled his eyes around and stared at the figure in the shadows. Cath still had the Browning stretched out in front of her, the gun on its side, blue smoke curling out of the end of the barrel. "Got bored. Thought I'd shoot you for the hell of it and to get your _fucking attention, _you arse-wipe! Jesus! I thought Marcus liked the sound of his own voice too much but _you?_ Damn it, dude, you take the biscuit!" She lowered the gun and stepped out of the shadows. "It's a trick of mine. I can make people forget I'm here. Adds to the element of surprise when I _shoot some fucker in the head_." She smiled nastily. "It ain't no magic Samuel Colt bullet, but it _is _silver, it _has _been blessed and it _will _sting like a bastard, even on you. Oh, it's mercury tipped, too. Little High Magick trick Marcus taught me." Her brow crinkled. "You OK there, Yeller? You don't look so good."

The demon winced in pain. Dean looked at the skin on his pale face – there were black spidery lines snaking just underneath the surface, creating a crawling pattern from the bullet wound in his left shoulder, up his neck and across his cheek. One line made its way relentlessly to the corner of his eye and a thick black liquid started to ooze from his tear-duct. A black tear rolled down his cheek, spreading the malaise that ate into him further across his nose and onto the other cheek. He clutched at his chest, a wave of pain spreading through him. The same pain that he had inflicted on so many of his victims over the years. Payback was a bitch…

Dean grinned. "Whoa! Neat trick, baby!"

"Why, thank you Dean!" Cath looked thoughtfully at the demon. "Ya know, if I pump another one into him, it'll hurt like a bitch even more. Waddya reckon, compadre?"

The smile on Dean's face was chilling. "Oh, I reckon it's a pretty good plan, Colonel. Ticks all the boxes for me!"

The demon dropped to his knees, his hand pressed against the wound that now leeched thick, black liquid. He chuckled quietly.

"What's so funny, dude?" Dean focused back on the demon.

"Oh, nothing! Except, well, you know what a fine shot little Cathy is? And how that bulled passed clean through my shoulder? Wanna take a look at who it hit on the other side, Dean?" He chuckled again.

"Oh Christ, no! SAM!" Dean ran to the slumped figure of his brother, the blood slowly spreading an ugly red stain over the front of his shirt. Sam's eyes locked with his brothers, the blue orbs flickering.

"The vessel is damaged. What is this feeling?"

Dean cradled his brother's head gently and carefully lifted Sam's hand out of the way. He looked at the bullet wound. It was bad. Real bad. "Oh man! OK, listen to me, Sammy. I want you to keep your hand pressed here, OK? _OK?_ C'mon, man, listen to me! I'm your big brother, I know what's good for you, you pain in the ass! SAMMY! Don't you DARE die on me!" Dean snapped his head around and glared furiously at Cath. "You stupid BITCH! You're supposed to be the one who knows how to deal with this! I was looking to you and you do this?" His voice was hoarse with desperate emotion. His world was tailspinning out of control. Again…

Cath swore quietly, her eyes fixed on the demon. "You son of a bitch! You planned every damn move, didn't you? _Didn't you?!"_

"Well, not _quite _every move, but yes, my sweet. All part of the grand plan. Although I didn't count on you shooting Sammy, I must admit. I had planned for Dean to do that, but the effect is the same. No harm, no foul, as they say." He smiled and struggled back to his feet, the yellow eyes boring into Cath Miller. "You see, calling an Elemental into this dimension requires a strong vessel." He jerked a thumb towards Sam. "Our Sammy over there. If I had allowed Marcus to use the child for that first part of the ritual, Michael wouldn't have survived the initial trauma, no matter how carefully Marcus performed it. But now? It's, how can I put this? Like decanting a fine wine. Yes, that's it." He nodded to himself, a smirk on his face. "Yes, good analogy, that. Anyhoo, particularly now Sammy isn't exactly feeling at his best, it's time to complete things. Once the Elemental is in the child, I will have ultimate control over it. Nothing will be able to stand against me. As long as the child lives, both realms will be subservient to me and me alone. And the rest of you? Well, _Colonel, _your damn fine ass will be mine. You will do as I command. You, Dean, Marcus, I have _plans _for you all." He glanced over at Alex. "Sorry, son. You don't figure in those plans." He shrugged. "Bitch, ain't it? Now. Time for all this to come to a conclusion." He looked at Michael, relishing in the child's fear. Of all the sweetest tastes to a demon, the fear of a child was by far the most delicious… "Michael, my boy, you see the man with the blue eyes? He needs your help, little one. You think you can help him? Make his pain go away?" The boy, not knowing why, nodded.

Alex tightened his grip on his son's wrist. "Don't listen to him, son! Please, god, _don't listen to him!" _Alex had no damn idea as to what was going on, but every nerve in his body screamed in alarm. This yellow-eyed bastard was pure, utter evil. That much he knew. And he was _damned _if he was going to let him anywhere near his boy! Michael turned to his father, his own beautiful blue eyes soft and unconcerned. It was the first time in days that Alex had seen anything but terror in the child's eyes. Michael looked… at peace…

"It's OK, daddy. The man needs my help. I can help him."

"Michael, no…"

"Daddy, _it's OK! _Really." Michael's little hand slipped from his father's grip and he walked over towards Sam. He stopped in front of the brothers and looked deep into Dean's eyes. "I can help him. I can make his pain go away. Will you let me?"

Dean couldn't say no. The kindness in the child's eyes washed away all of the pain, all of the anger. He felt tears well up in his own green eyes. He tried to speak but the words wouldn't come. Gently, the child lifted Dean's hand from Sam's wound, the heat radiating from his fingers like flames. He looked deep into Sam's eyes and smiled. "Hello. I'm Michael."

Sam, and for a split second it _was _Sam, smiled back through the sickening pain of the gunshot wound that flooded through his body. "Hey Michael. I…"

Michael placed his tiny hand on the open wound. Dean was hurled backwards by the force that emanated from the child and landed sprawling in a corner, the impact reminding him of the broken ribs that Marcus had inflicted on him earlier.

A blinding blue light flooded the chamber and a terrible, screaming tearing sound echoed around its stone walls. Dean clamped his hands over his ears, his eyes tight shut, trying to block out the sound. He couldn't stop the shout of pain from escaping his lips. It ripped at the very fibre of every living thing in that room. Alex dropped to his knees, blood trickling from his ears as he screamed against the pain of the wall of sound. Cath dropped her Browning and slid down the wall, her hands covering her ears, the blood squeezing from between her fingers. She ignored the rasping grasp of the stone on the skin of her back. All she could think about was trying to block that terrible sound out…

Marcus bellowed in pain, unable to protect himself from the din. Small fragments of stone started to dust the floor as the cacophony of noise hit a resonance note that reminded the stones of their birth – in the heart of the earth itself.

The Elements were singing.

It was a song of creation, of destruction, of birth, death and rebirth. All into one. Something that had not happened since the beginning of Time itself. Something that _should never happen again._ The very fabric of Time and Space began to tear, ripping the beating heart of the Universe apart.

And in the mist, stood the demon. A calm oasis in the centre of a galactic storm. He smiled, threw his arms out and laughed. Laughed with delight at the destruction of all that Mankind had held dear for _far too long. _Laughed at the sound of the ultimate end and beginning. Laughed at the power that flooded through him, revelling in its embrace, feeling it crash into every atom of his blackened soul.

He'd _DONE IT!_

All around him, he could feel the anguish of pathetic souls, screaming for mercy, begging for deliverance. This time there would be none. The child was his. The Elemental was his. The warriors were his to command, for once the child was one with the Elemental, _all, _including the Magi, would bow down to his command. He could nurture Sammy, teaching him about his true power, his true destiny. Teaching him what it really meant to have the blood of a demon running through his veins. And Michael? Ah, what power he would yield! Nothing could stop…

The explosion tore through the maelstrom of sound and the sound of the child's scream ripped into the very hearts of all. The sound seemed to implode on itself and a sudden and deafening silence slammed into the room. Dean opened his eyes and looked in utter disbelief at the child. He lay next to Sam, his brilliant blue eyes wide open, lifeless. A tiny trickle of blood ran from the bullet wound between his eyes. Dean felt the bile rise in his throat. "God, NO!" He snapped his head up and looked at the frozen figure of Cath.

The gun spun on her finger and dropped to the ground. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and she gasped for air, shocked to her very soul for what she had just done. Her eyes turned to Dean. He could see the desperation in them, the self-loathing, the utter disgust and the soul destroying sadness that tore into her. "I… I had to, Dean! Everything would have died! _EVERYTHING! _Oh, God, please, I'm so sorry! Please, forgive me, _please!" _She dropped to her knees, her hands covering her face. Sobs tore through her, wave after wave of remorse crashing through her soul. The last vestiges of humanity torn from her by the one act she knew was the only way to end the Armageddon that they had all faced. The killing of a child. An innocent. She had broken the ultimate rule for the sake of the whole of Humanity.

She was damned.

A low rumble filled the chamber, like the sound of an approaching train. Cath snapped her head up, the tears now gone. Utter fury filled her. A fury unlike anything she had ever experienced before. Her eyes, god those eyes! The blackness that lay in the heart of every Magi, the sheer, screaming madness, a base instinct so primeval to be as old as the Elementals themselves, consumed her. She had only one thought now. To kill the demon. To kill the thing that had brought her to this. To destroy him utterly. She stood up slowly, her eyes never leaving the demon. She reached behind her and agonisingly slowly drew the curved scimitar blade she had warned Dean never to touch. The blade hissed angrily as it was pulled from its resting place, the metal singing a high, keening note, eager to please its mistress, eager to destroy something evil.

"You!" She stalked towards the demon. "_YOU MADE ME DO THIS! YOU!" _The roar became louder, and Dean scrabbled to his brother's side. Anything to get away from this vision of darkness, this vision he knew that _could have been him…_ Sam grabbed Dean's shoulder, utter confusion in his eyes. The blood on his chest was gone. The wound that had so nearly killed him was gone. Panic filled his brother's eyes, Alex was unconscious, possibly dead, Marcus was moaning and writhing in his madness and a child lay dead at his feet. Dear God, what the hell had happened here? A look passed between the brothers. No words were needed. This wasn't their battle any more. This was Cath's…

The rumble became a roar and a shotgun-like crack echoed through the chamber. The split in the ground had opened up, zig-zagging wildly across the floor, scuttling from one side of the chamber to the other. A brilliant light sent the darkness of the mausoleum fleeing to the very corners, cowering in the wake of the light from the centre of existence itself. The light of the Elementals. Opening up to claim its own. Cath let out an unholy scream and sprinted towards the demon, the vicious blade raised above her head. The demon stepped back, his arm raised in defence against the avenging angel that rushed towards him, grovelling from the inevitable attack he knew was coming. His foot stepped into nothingness and for a split second he seemed to hover in mid air before tumbling, screaming, into the abyss. Cath didn't stop running. Dean finally found his voice and yelled at the top of his lungs as he saw her launch herself into the gaping maw of the Earth. "CATHY! NO! GOD NO!" He threw himself forward, desperately trying to grab at her before she fell, his fingers just brushing against the tail of her long duster, just brushing, _just missing…_

The crack snapped shut, leaving one tiny pinprick of light emanating from the darkness that swamped the chamber again. The beam seemed to be searching for something, probing, like a snake mesmerised by the swaying of a charmer's pipe. It finally found what it was searching for. Like a lightning strike, it hit Michael on the forehead, exactly where the bullet had penetrated his skull. For a moment, the child was bathed in that same eerie, blue light that had filled Sam's soul.

The child was an innocent.

It was not his turn to die.

Evil had been defeated and Nature abhors a vacuum. In its place, there had to be something good. Balance. Always, there must be balance. The wound vanished, the blood finding its way back into Michael by the same path it had taken. The light withdrew; snaking up and then being sucked back into the earth like a strand of spaghetti.

A deathly still filled the chamber. Dean stared at the ground, silently willing Cath to be _not gone. _To be standing there, the sword in her hand. To still be _here, now. _The knot in his stomach tightened. He felt as if something of himself was missing, something that left an aching inside him he had never known before. Why? Why had this happened? _WHY?_

Sam scrambled over towards Michael, gently cradling the boy's head in his hands. "Michael?" The child's eyes flickered. "Mikey? Can you hear me?" The bright blue eyes of the child swivelled towards his and he smiled up at Sam.

"Are you better now, mister?"

Sam laughed gently. "Yes, Michael, I'm all better now. Thanks to you." He pushed the child's hair back from his forehead and noticed a small triangular scar where the bullet hole had been. A triangle he knew was the symbol of Fire. The virtues of courage and valour. Governed by the Arc-Angel Michael. Sam smiled again. "Hey Mikey. I think your daddy needs you." He nodded to where Alex was slowly regaining consciousness and watched as the child scrabbled up the stone steps to where his father lay. Alex let out a shout of relief and wrapped his arms protectively around his son, silently whispering a prayer of thanks to whatever had watched over them, blissfully unaware that his son had been brought back from the dead.

Marcus was gone. So was the book.

The door of the mausoleum lay open, and Sam could see a distant figure, stumbling across the lawn in the strange, pre-dawn light. He knew he should go after him, bring him down, but then what? Kill him? There had been enough killing for one day. Sam knew that they had an enemy now, a powerful human enemy that would one day come back to haunt them…

Sam turned his attention back to his brother. In all this, he had failed to see the pain in Dean's eyes. Dean was crouched on his haunches in the middle of the stone floor, something hanging from his fingers. Sam crouched down beside him and placed a gentle hand on his brother's shoulder. He looked at the object. It was an amulet. The same one as Dean had worn all his life. Cath's amulet. The amulet of the Magi. Dean flipped the amulet into the palm of his hand and curled his fingers tight around it, his eyes closed. A single tear slid down his cheek, hanging from his chin for the briefest of seconds and then splashing silently to the floor. Sam tightened his grip on his brother's shoulder. "She's gone, Dean," he said quietly. "I'm so sorry, man, really I am."

Dean opened his eyes and looked deep into his brother's gentle gaze. "No, Sam. She isn't _gone. _She's not. She's still alive. Somewhere. And I'm gonna find her. You understand?"

"Dean…"

"No, Sam! I _have _to find her!" Dean stood up suddenly. He pushed the amulet deep into his jacket pocket. He turned and purposefully walked towards Alex and his son. "You OK?" he said in a matter-of-fact voice. Alex nodded. Dean pulled out the keys of Cath's Land Rover and tossed them to the man. "There's a big black Land Rover parked outside. Steering wheel's on the wrong side, but hey, that's the Brits for ya. You got family you can go to?" Again, Alex nodded. "Then go there. Get yourself and Michael as far away from here as possible. And look after that Land Rover, OK? The real owner's gonna want it back sometime soon, and she's gonna be _real pissed _if you scratch the paintwork, got it?" He turned and walked out of the door, not looking back. Sam picked up the Colt that had lain unused on the floor and started after his brother. He stopped by Alex.

"You need any help, you call me, OK? This is my cell number." He handed Alex a scrap of paper. "Seriously, I mean it. You stay in touch." He smiled briefly at the man and boy and ran out of the mausoleum, catching up with Dean. He grabbed his brother's arm and stopped him in his tracks. "Dean…"

"Don't say anything, OK, Sammy? Please. I… I just wanna get the fuck out of New Orleans. I need to think. Just, just _don't say anything_! He pulled himself free of his brother's grip and marched steadily towards the Impala. Sam watched him for a moment. His body posture told him that Dean was hurting. Badly. Not just physically, but inside. _Deep _inside. Something that Sam wasn't a part of, something that Sam couldn't ever understand.

Dean had changed.

Sam was worried that, despite the outcome of the previous nights' events, he may have lost his brother forever…

_**The End?**_

_Coming soon – Enemy Mine…_

_Acknowledgements: Thanks have to go to the following: AyJay, the genius that is Eric Kripke for creating Supernatural in the first place, my husband for sorting the computer out when it crashed and all those who have read and hopefully enjoyed When the Levees Break. _

_Kes Cross_


End file.
